


The White Wolf of Westeros

by DrakeCross



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Betrayal, Blood and Violence, Crossover, Drama, Fantasy, Horror, Intrigue, Magic, Politics, Swordfighting, War, War of the Five Kings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-18
Updated: 2019-03-12
Packaged: 2019-03-20 17:50:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 22
Words: 177,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13722894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DrakeCross/pseuds/DrakeCross
Summary: The Wild Hunt is defeated and Ciri steps beyond to face the source of the White Frost. However something goes wrong and Geralt risks himself as he follows her, ending up in the land of Westeros. Dealing with new intrigue and politics, he will have to decide who he can trust while trying to save his adopted daughter...along with the lives of both worlds!(Originally posted on fanfic.net. Reposted onto Archive by creator.)





	1. Season 1 Prologue: Beyond the Tower

Forward: This story is based around the Game of Thrones TV series and the Witcher game series set at the final battle of Witcher 3 with Heart of Stone being concluded.

Prologue 

Geralt panted as he sprinted forward, hurrying to the tower that was at the center of a maelstrom of raw magical energy and searing cold winds. The Witcher was tired...body aching after his last duel with Eredin, the master of the Wild Hunt. Yet despite the Ane Elle slayed, things weren’t finished yet. The White Frost was coming still and Ciri’s fate being tied to it. He wasn’t going to stand by and let her die, not after everything he had endured for so many months in searching for her, not after all the friends that had died in protecting her.

Climbing the last flight of stairs, he was soon reached the hollowed out center of the tower. Avallac’h was there, the powerful elven mage channeling the magical energy about the tower, focused it towards the lone sturdy door at the ruined tower’s far end. Geralt moved in, silver blade still in hand as he remember Eredin’s last words.

“Avallac’h has betrayed us both. He set us against each other…and he’s made off with Cirilla.”

He had said he didn’t believe him…yet seeing Avallac’h alone sparked doubt in him. By now the elf had noticed him, finishing his channeling before speaking in his very calm and formal manner.

“Geralt…So unfortunate. I’d hoped you wouldn’t have to witness this.” Turning about, he’d facing the Witcher with a sorrowful look hinting his sharp featured face.

Geralt stepped closer, expression stern towards the elf. “Where’s Ciri?” He simply demanded.

“Nearby. Listen-“ Avallac’h started.

“Shut up.” Geralt grasped his blade in both hands, stance shifting to fight. “I’ve heard enough of your bullshit. Draw your weapon, let’s get this over with.”

Avallac’h stepped back, sensing how frustrated the Witcher was. Yet he’d draw his blade, stance tense before he’d shake his head and tossing his blade aside. He’d look back at Geralt, still keeping that calm look about him even in the face of death.

“Think I’m willing to spare you?” Geralt questioned, suspicious at what the elf mage was planning.

“I think you will not attack one unarmed.” The elf countered back.

Geralt tightened his grip on his blade. “Wouldn’t be so sure. I’m in a foul mood.”

“I am not your foe. I am meagerly helping Cirilla.”

“I don’t believe you. Can’t. Not after all that’s happened.”

“Will you believe me?” A familiar female voice said off to the side.

Quickly Geralt turnabout as he recognized that voice, sheathing his blade and relaxing as he saw it was Ciri, although she was now dressed in heavy fur clothes fit for travel. Already he was figuring out what was going on…and that worried him all the more.

“Avallac’h speaks the truth. I asked him to help me open the tower, because I aim to enter it.” The way she spoke showed how serious she was on the matter.

“Didn’t think it worthwhile to tell me, warn me of your plans?” Geralt questioned, a hint of frustration in his voice.

Ciri took a breath, glancing away slightly before answering back. “I’m sorry. I know, I should have…but I feared you’d not understand.” She’d look back at him, with that determined look back in her emerald green eyes.

“I will, Geralt, once I emerge from the tower. If I emerge.” Her voice was soft, at its lowest with those last dreaded words.

“Ithlinne’s prophecy is drivel. Destruction is not our fate.” He countered back, stepping closer as again emotion was driving him on even as Ciri paced to the edge of the tower, staring over the snowstorm ridden sea.

“You have seen the future, don’t you remember?” Geralt glance back at Avallac’h, remembering the world he had seen during his final battle with the Grand Master of Salamandra, the hellish frozen waste that had consumed the world. “Entropy cannot be stopped. The worlds will freeze, one after the other, and all life will parish.”

“Avallac’h is right. If I do nothing, humans, elves, all will face destruction.” Ciri added, turning back back to face the Witcher.

Geralt shook his head, trying to think of a solution…something other way that all the knowledge he had learned over his life. Yet he had nothing. “There gotta be another way…”

“What can you know about saving the world, silly? You’re but a Witcher.” Ciri countered back in a soft witty manner, catching him off guard as he had nothing to say back.

Ciri looked to the doorway which was open, snow and white swirling portal energy filling the void. “This is my story, not yours. You must let me finish telling it.” She’d pause before moving towards the doorway, ready to fulfill her destiny.

Geralt took a deep breath, realizing he was acting foolish in trying to dissuade her. She was right...the White Frost had to be stopped and only she could do it. “Good luck, Ciri”

She’d pause at the stairs leading to the doorway, turning to look at him once more. “Perhaps I should have told you. I see now you might have understood.”

“Know you better than you think.” A small smirk hinted his lips, making Ciri softly grin back. “Don’t keep me waiting.” She’d nod at that final remark, facing back to the doorway and stepping toward it. She’d give a final look back to Geralt, a forlorn look showing across her face before she’d step forward through the portal, vanishing in a flash of light.

Geralt took a deep breath, counting the minutes that pass by while Avallac’h stood by, silently watching the portal.

….

Ciri fell forward roughly as portal flung her into a wasteland being ravished by an endless snowstorm. She shielded her eyes from the frost, quickly glancing around her harsh surroundings as she tried to figure out what she was supposed to do. Despite everything Avallac’h learned about the Frost, he didn’t know how her Elder Blood could stop it. However she’d focus on the icy slope ahead, seeing light at the top of it. She felt that that was the way to go…the source of the White Frost.

She’d struggle through the wind and snow, narrowing her eyes as the light ahead was so intense…yet something shifted before it. Nearing the slope’s top a tall figure stepped forward, silhouette by the light yet revealing a shocking appearance. The figure was dressed in dark armor, yet not like the heavy ornate pieces the Wild Hunt wore. The skin looked rough and a chilled pale blue, almost as if ice had frozen over the figure’s skin like a second layer. The face was sharp angled like an elf’s yet had that rough look across it. All around his bare head were a series of evenly set spikes that forms into a natural crown.

Ciri’s emerld eyes locked with the figure’s, whose gaze was a pure icy blue. They were cold, calculating and lacking any emotion towards her, not even hate. Already her mind was racing, trying to figure out what this creature was since it was nothing like any monster Vesemir’s books and lessons had shown. Yet there was no denying it, the way the storm molded around the figure showed that he controlled it. She’d drew Gwyhyr as arcane energy flowed around her, her Elder Blood’s power being shown. A hint of curiosity just hinted in those piercing blue eyes before Ciri rushed at him, blade striking down to end him…

….

Geralt felt something was wrong. His gut feeling never failed him and his wolf amulet was vibrating intensely. Avallac’h’s calm expression broke as shock crossed his face. “No…this isn’t right.” He muttered before waving his hands, muttering incantations. The doorway surged with energy, making Geralt tense and draw is silver sword, ready for anything that may come through the portal.

“Damn it Avallac’h, what is going on!?” He snapped out as another surge went out through the tower, flinging him and the elf off their feet. Both landed roughly to the ground, struggling back up as quickly as possible.

“I’m not sure. Something is disrupting the portal. The connection is breaking yet it isn’t subsiding!” The elf male yelled out over the howling winds. “I have to try and direct it. Ciri must not have finished her task…yet her presence on the other side is affected it!” Again he’d continue his spell casting while Geralt stared back at the portal, thinking over the elf’s words. Did Ciri die…did the Frost kill her somehow? It couldn’t have ended that way could it? Gripping his blade, he cursed at his powerlessness, yet knew that something had to be done.

“I’m going through. I don’t care…prophecies and blood lines be damned, I’m not letting this happen!” He rushed for the portal Avallac’h surprised at the Witcher’s actions.

“Geralt, here is no telling where you’ll go! You mustn’t-“ He started yet another surge of magical energy pulsed forward. The Witcher reached the portal at that moment, crying out as the burst of power shocked his body. He gritted his teeth, dealing with the pain even as his nerves felt like they were in fire. The familiar lurging feeling of the portal could be felt, that feeling which he hated so much. Yet this time it was more intense, stronger than even the time he had traveled between worlds with Avallac’h. Much like Ciri, he was gone in a flash of light as one final surge before the doorway crumbled from the raw power.

Being pulled through, he’d see his surroundings rapidly change. Places he had been to, seeing events of the past, worlds strange and alien. It was so rapid that it was blinding while the physical pull stressed his body to its limits. At last though everything came to a slamming halt as he felt his body crash against a rough solid ground, making everything black out.

…

Slowly Geralt started to wake up, his head feeling as if a troll had smacked him about and body aching as if he had fell from a cliff. He felt snow against his face along with sharp rubble scraping against the right side of his face which was pressing to the ground. Grunting, he’d push himself up onto his knees, panting as he catched his breath while examining his surroundings, being in the center of a clearing of some forest.

It was easy to tell that he wasn’t on Skellige because of the trees, they weren’t fitting for the cold islands but more for mountainous inland. Already he questioned if he was in some other world taken by the Frost or perhaps the prime world where it originated. Maybe he was just all the way at Kaer Morhen…and everything had just been a bad dream.

“I wish…” He muttered as he’d staggered up to his feet, groaning in pain before grasping at his right side. Considering his experience with injuries, he could tell that a rib or two was broken, nothing that Swallow and a little rest could fix. However his sharp ears heard something in the surrounding woods, a heavy foot breaking twigs. Survival instinct had the Witcher on guard, grasping his silver blade, waiting for a sign of who or whatever lurked about.

From the thick tree line, a gruff figure armed with a crude axe stepped into view. For a moment Geralt thought it was a Skelliger warrior yet saw how the clothing was far too primitive in design, being little more then rough leather and dirty fur garments. The bearded man grunted, speaking out in some unknown language while waving his axe about in a threatening manner.

“Easy now, not looking to fight.” Geralt spoke back, biting back pain from his injured side. Slowly he’d sheath his silver blade, yet kept tense to draw his steel. The man looked confused at the Witcher, obviously not understanding him, yet grinned after a moment. Again he spoke, tone calmer as he’d lower his axe and relax his stance, yet Geralt saw the man’s other hand shift to a rusty throwing knife at his hip.

As soon as that knife was thrown, Geralt’s sword was out as he batted the blade away midflight. The raider gave a wide eyed look of shock before yelling out in some kind of warning cry. Yet it was cut short as Geralt rushed forward, growling out as anger and adrenaline drove him as his runed steel blade slice right into the man’s shoulder and cleave right through him. Blood and gore flew about as the severed torso and lower body fell aside, but soon after angry yells followed as more wild men rushed from the woods.

“Come on you pieces of filth!” Geralt growled out before making the Quin sign with his left hand, a short shimmer of yellow energy pulsing as a shield formed around him. Quickly he was surrounding, three of the wild men quickly lashing out at him from all sides. Being wounded and angry left his defenses low, yet the Quin sign guarded him as he’d slash left and right. His blade would block a worn sword while a spike of shocking magic stopped an axe from cutting into his back, making his attacker yell out in pain. One by one they dropped, a blade to the side, another's arm severed and while the last was shocked by the energy of the defensive Sign breaking.

Panting, he’d see more wild men swarming from the woods, nearly a dozen from a glance. Always the same, they just never gave up even after seeing their friends dismembered or magic being used. Right now he didn’t care if they were all suicidal…he’d fight them all! As the first line of men closed in he’d make the Igni sign as a wide arch of flames burst forth, setting the group aflame. They howled and stumbled around only for him to move in cutting each flailing man down. More hateful yells and cries came from the second wave yet he’d ignore them as he’d drew a grapeshot from his hip pouch, throwing out to land in the cneter of the last group. The explosion and the pained howls of the men filled the air, the blast ripping their bodies apart and splittering the nearby trees into pieces. The boom echoed throughout the woods, leaving a piercing silence as no doubt all the wild life had been scared away because of the blast.

Panting, he’d step back to survey the battle, leaning back against a tree to steady himself. Over a dozen of the raiders were dead, small fires lingering across the ground from both his Igni sign and the bomb. “Any more…any one?” He spoke out, exhaustion and anger making him lose a bit of composure for the moment. Taking a deep breath and sigh, he’d take out a Swallow and gulp the potion down, shivering from the taste yet feeling the soothing feeling course through him to quicken his recovery. Taking a moment to close his eyes and relax, he’d soon hear a new sound approaching him, the hooves of horses.

Opening his eyes, he’d shift to stand straight as he felt partly recovered and focused once more. From a side trail leading to the small clearing, three men in leather and chainmail rode in on horseback, each carrying round steel shields with the mark of a snarling wolf on it. Geralt could tell they were soldiers from their gear and the way they acted, although their expressions showed shock at the death and destruction before them.

Quickly, all three of them focused on Geralt who stared them all down. His sword was still out yet he kept it low to his side. The soldiers had their spears up slightly as one rider approached, keep his weapon low. “Who are you outsider?” The man spoke, his accent deep and tone stern. The language was that of the northern kingdoms yet the dialect seemed different to a degree.

“Geralt of Rivia…” The Witcher simply stated.

“Rivia? What country is that? From Essos?” The soldier quickly questioned. “I can’t say I’ve seen anyone like you either. Armor is unlike anything…two swords…white hair and-“ He’d pause when he saw those eyes, yellow in color and cat like. It caught him off guard and grip his weapon more tightly. “Did you kill all of these Wildings? There must be a dozen, yet you’re alone.”

Geralt, paused before nodding. “Yah…they attacked me all of the sudden after one of them found me.” He explained.

Again the guards muttered about each other, giving warily looks to the white haired man. “Outsider, in the name of Lord Eddard Stark, Warden of the North and Lord of Winterfell, you are to accompany us back to the capital keep for questioning.” The leading guard requested.Already Geralt realized that he wasn’t in the Northern Kingdoms…well…HIS version of the Northern Kingdoms. He didn’t know about any Lord Stark or Winterfell, the first hints of being in some different world. “I take refusing isn’t a choice?” He asked.

The guard simply nodded, the other two tensing slightly.

Sighing, Geralt sheathed his steel blade before stepping towards the three soldiers. “Fine I’ll come along. I’d rather not cause trouble with the lordship.”

“Smart man…We’re a few days away yet the King’s Road will get us there quick. Hopefully you can share more about yourself and where with ‘Rivia’ is.”

“Trust me…I have just as many questions.” The Witcher muttered back, feeling that difficult times were coming ahead. Right now he had to follow along, learn as much as he could and then find Ciri, if she was even in this world.


	2. Season 1 - Episode 1: Road to Winterfell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Having survived an attack by a Wilding raiding party, Geralt is taken under guard by Stark soldiers. Lost and injured, the Witcher focuses on learning more about this new world's complex history and seeking out possible allies in his search for Ciri.

 

**Season 1 Episodes 1: Road to Winterfell**

 

....

Geralt never liked be disarmed, yet often in situations like this he had little choice. Considering they had found the Witcher surrounded by a dozen dead raiders, they were obviously on guard with him. The three men acted quite professional though, not like the rude and bumbling Redanian soldiers he had dealt with in the past. No doubt it was because these men didn’t know what he was exactly, although their odd looks were more of curiosity than hate or hostility. For now, two of them were focused on searching the slain Wildlings, examining their wounds and searching for any possible valuables as well.

The only time their soldierly manners faded was when they got a chance to examine his blades, muttering in fascination at the ornate yet deadly craftsmanship. The hand crossbow really had them surprised, showing that such weapons either didn’t exist or were very rare.

“The belt pouch please.” One of the soldiers asked, making Geralt give a short glare at him. “Have to check that too, don’t want any hidden weapons.”

Geralt was silent for a moment before speaking. “I don’t think it be safe for you to handle what it’s carrying.” He calmly stated.

The soldier gave an annoyed look at the sudden remark. “You’ve be behaving so far, yet you shouldn’t threaten a soldier of House Stark.” He warned.

“Not threat, a warning.” Geralt answered back, trying to be reasonable with the man. “This bag has some sensitive mixtures. Keep it away from fire and don’t drink anything. It’s not safe for you.” He’d hand the pouch over, the man surprise at the weight to it before he’d check inside to see the small stash of potions and bombs.

“You’re an alchemist and a swordsman?” The guard questioned as he’d set the pouch on his horse saddle along with the Witcher’s other weapons.

“More of a jack of all trades.” Geralt remarked back. “My line of work requires me to be flexible for any situation.”

“And what kind of profession is that?”

Geralt was silent for a moment before he’d answer back. “A Witcher…where I come from it’s a title for the most elite sellswords.

“Witcher? Odd name considering.”

“Didn’t have much of a say on the title.” Geralt added with a small shrug.

By this point the other two soldier would finish their searching. “Dozen Wildlings, largest group we’ve had in a few years.” One guard muttered, just enough for Geralt to hear. “You think one man took them all on?” Again both soldiers eyed the white haired man, who calmly watched them both. “Got the look of a warrior about him. Not sure what to make of him…the white hair, pale skin and them eyes.” They’d speak in lower voices before the group moved to mount their horses.

“The nearest village is at a day’s ride. We’ll get a horse for you there, but for now you’ll have to walk along with us.” The leading soldier explained.

“Great…will we at least be camping soon?” Geralt grumbled, not that eager walking after hours of fighting and running around. If anything, it took a lot of willpower and all the Swallow mixtures keeping him together.

The soldier thought for a moment, seeing the stressed hint that the Witcher’s stance had. “Yes…I say in a few hours at least. Just want to give us some distance from this area in case of more Wildlings lurking around.”

Geralt nodded as he’d followed the three soldier through the woods, soon arriving at a wide clear stretch of road. He’d be silent the whole walk, taking time to think over what might of happened to Ciri. If anything he could be a world away from her, after all her elder blood was what allowed her to reach the world the White Frost originated at. Right now, he needed help and so far Ned Stark, Warden of the North sounded like his best chance of getting help.

…

As the sunset, the group would find a clear spot off the King’s Road to camp for the night. One of the soldiers would be sitting by the tied up horses on guard duty while the other two and Geralt rested by the fire. The soldiers had been nice enough to share their rations with the Witcher, yet jerky and other dried food wasn’t the most appealing dinners he had had of late.

“Heh…you know I realize I haven’t bother to introduce myself.” The lead soldier remarked as he finished his ration and removed his metal domed helmet. The man with short cut dark hair, least middle aged with quite the worn faced and having a visible three racking scars across his face, no doubt from an animal attack or a certain weapon.

“The name is Graffin, the unofficial leader of this patrol. I’ve been serving House Stark for half my life and fought Robert’s Rebellion about…A bit over twenty years back.” The man chuckled a bit, scratching his scruffy chin as he’d see Geralt’s questioning look. “If you don’t know about the Rebellion, then your must have been living under a rock for an over these two decades. Even the most distant realms of Essos knows the story.”

“Then perhaps you should tell me everything then. Give me a run down on what the country’s situation is like.” Geralt remarked back. “Just the basics at least. Then I’ll tell you whatever I can about my country and recent events.”

“Huh, fair enough...hope you can keep up with all of this.” The soldier chuckled as he’d get a big flask and pour up some drink. Geralt already had a feeling this was going to be a long night.

…

The next few hours Graffin shared everything he knew about the last two decades about Westeros. The history of the Targaryen reign, the different Houses that managed the vast Seven Kingdoms, life in the north, Robert’s Rebellion and much more. Even for a sharp mind like Geralt’s it was a lot to take in.

Graffin finished his third mug for the night, giving a sigh after downing the last of his drink. “Alright I’ve talked your ear off long enough. Your turn I guess.”

Geralt smirked a bit at the jesting, already thinking over how to answer. “Sad to say my story may be just a long. How about you decide, would you rather know about where I came from or my past?”

Graffin paused thinking it over. “Tell me about yourself. I’ve had enough talk on kingdoms and politics for one night.” Checking his flask, he’d grumble a bit. “Not enough ale to numb myself even.”

“I’d offer some of mine if my horse and saddlebags weren’t missing.”

“Heh, a good gesture at least.” The man said with a small laugh. “Alright then let’s start with your little title. You said you’re from Rivia, is that the kingdom you were born in? If anything, that is a knightly title as well.”

“Right about being knighted, although wrong of being born there. The region is really two kingdoms in a close alliance with the other kingdom being Lyria. The surname I took was part of training as a Witcher.” Geralt calmly explained.

“Witcher…Strange name at that. Does that make you some male witch or something?” The soldier jested.

“It’s the name for the order of warrior monks I grew up with. My parents left me at one of their holds called Kaer Morhen when I was just a baby. Once I was old enough to swing a practice sword, they began my training. Trained with a lot of other kids…most didn’t make it either leaving, being dismissed or…accidents happening.” Pausing, he’d continue on. “Once we passed the final tests we go through the Trial of Grasses, a series of rituals involving herbs and potions that that only the order knows about.” He kept the details vague since he knew little of the process and didn’t want to include the more magical elements the Trial had.

“Is that why you’re eyes are all…well...cat like along with your hair being white?” Graffin asked, a true curiosity showing in his eyes. “Heard of odd stories about alchemists, making all sorts of strange mixtures that can change a man.”

“Pretty much. The eye change gives me better sight for tracking and low light vision. The hair, that’s just a side effect I had from additional mixtures being given to me. I reacted well to the Trial unlike most.”

“What do you mean?”

“The Trial stresses the body. Not sure how it does it but it makes the body strong, faster and tougher. However not everyone can handle it. Maybe is a physical issue or just plain bad luck.” Pausing, he’d give a small sigh. “Three out of ten who take the Trial don’t make it through. They can die, become crippled or go mad.” It was a blunt answer that drew a shocked look from the soldier.

“So you meaning you can go through all that rigorous training only for a few herbs to ruin you? Just…what are you Geralt?” A hint of shock showed in the man’s eyes, troubled at this new detail.  
“Simple, a Witcher.” Geralt calmly stated.

“Still haven’t explained WHAT a Witcher does.” Graffin questioned.

At this point Geralt paused, unsure how to answer back. “If I told you, you wouldn’t believe me.” He stated after a moment.

“Ha! Try me.” Graffin scoffed as he’d lean back where he sat.

“A Witcher’s duty is to hunt and kill monsters that threatened human lives. From the fiercest beasts to the most otherworldly specter, curses, wild magic and the like. Whenever someone disappeared suddenly, odd noises in the woods or violent attacks on the road, people would know to hire a Witcher to figure out what is wrong.”

For a moment Graffin said nothing yet smirked before chuckling, shaking his head before bursting out laughing. Geralt had expected as much, yet couldn’t help but frown in annoyance. “Hahaha. I-I’m sorry but that is rich Geralt. You mean to say you’re a monster slayer? Did you go off to slaying ghouls and goblins? That’s just superstitious talk that common folk fear over things they can’t see or understand.”

“I told you wouldn’t believe me. Laugh all you want, it’s the truth.” Geralt kept that calm look while the soldier calmed down from his laughter.

“Look, we have our stories and legends on monsters. Heck we’ve were ruled by a nobility that rode dragons. Yet in the end, time and war killed the fire breathers while all the talk of fairies and ghosts became little more than fireside tales.”

Geralt shrugged, deciding not to argue with the man. At the least his disbelief made the topic short lived. Graffin however spoke up again. “Still, I can tell that training paid off considering what you did to the Wildlings. If one Witcher can do that much, imagine if we had a dozen of you fighting during the Rebellion.”

“Sort of against our teachings to be involved on matters of politics and kingdoms. Last time that happened we had a whole order wiped out.” Geralt remarked back. “The Witchers had multiple school across the kingdoms, yet false rumors and fear led to most of them being wiped out.” He remembered Vesemir’s harrowing story of the attack at Kaer Morhen. It was ironic how in the end the fearful peasants killed the ones who had been raised and trained to protect them from the true dangers on their lives.

Graffin saw the distant look Geralt had, getting an idea on what had happened. “Damn…unfair of that to happen.” The soldier didn’t really know what to say on the matter, shifting a bit uncomfortably. “So, I guess I should get to the point Geralt, how did you end up in the middle of nowhere in the North?”

Geralt was silent, again unsure to be blunt or not. “I was looking for someone. My adopted daughter.” He answered back, deciding to give a half the reason. “She had gone on a long journey looking for something and I followed her. As for how I ended up in those woods…I don’t remember…” He’d shrug, keeping that neutral look to the soldier. “Just woke up, aching and worn before those raiders and then you showed up.”

The soldier was silent for a long moment before nodding. “Sounds quite personal really. Still, never heard of a father letting his daughter go fighting on her own.”

“Ciri isn’t any normal woman. My own mentor and I taught her everything about fighting and surviving out on the wilds. Those wildlings wouldn’t have stood a chance with her.” He remarked, a small prideful smirk hinting his lips.

“Ha, I’ll take your word on that. If you are looking for her then Lord Eddard can help. There isn’t a man in the Seven Kingdoms more honorable and trustworthy then him. Taking care of all those wildlings will surely gain you a good standing with the lordship, maybe even King Robert himself.” Graffin said with a small chuckle.

Geralt thought over what the soldier said. If anything the man had a point, right now he was on his own in a completely new world. No allies to back him up, his supplies all stuck on Roach and just a sack full of Orins that maybe worthless here.

The soldier nodded back before shifting up to stand. “Anyway, enough chatting for tonight. I need some shut eye. Tomorrow we’ll be heading to town, get some fresh supplies and a horse for you. Then we’ll be riding hard for Winterfell, Lord Stark needs to know of the Wildlings sneaking pass the Wall. It shows the Night’s Watch is lacking in numbers…or motivation to do their duty.” Sighing and shaking his head, he’d shift up to stand. “Anyway, my turn to be on watch. You get some rest, if anything you look like you need it.” With that the man moved off to his bedroll, leaving Garelt with more questions now.

However, he was too tired to think over what the man had mentioned of this Night’s Watch or this Wall. The Witcher moved to his own bedroll, moving to lay down and relax his sore body. While he felt he should be more on guard, he was just too tired to care. Giving a tired sigh, he’d close his eyes and was quickly into a deep restless sleep.

 

….

Geralt’s dreams were vivid and confusing. He saw visions of Ciri, yelling out in pain a swirling storm of magical energy roared around her. He’d see a vast wasteland rapidly shifting from day to night. A large hall with an empty spiked throne of melted iron. The flashes of the dream became more intense, making his heart race yet suddenly a hand shook him.

“Geralt! Geralt! Wake up!”

The Witcher gasped, almost using Arad in surprise before realizing it was Graffin. “Gods man, you were muttering and shaking in your sleep.” The soldier muttered.

“Nothing. Just a bad dream. Stress I guess.” Geralt answered back calmly, sitting up and rubbing his head as a small migraine coursed through.

“Alright…” Still the soldier had a concerned look even as Geralt got up, stretching a bit before refitting his fine leather and chain armor.

Soon the camp was packed up and the small group continued their way south down the main road. The weather was brisk yet comforting, being warmer then Geralt had expected. Garffin had said that Westeros had prolonged seasons, which would explain the summer like conditions. By now they had traveled south far enough as all traces of snow were gone.

“Ah here we are!” Graffin pointed out, having the Witcher’s attention shift south west.

The woodland cleared away to a wide view of hills and valleys that stretched out as far as the eye could see. Lush fields, thick forests and distant snowcapped peaks were spread across the landscape in a quite breathtaking scene. Down the short hill was a town, a quite well kept one when compared to the war-torn homes he was used to seeing. The villagers were out and about, doing chores or busy out in the nearby farms set close by. It was a quite comforting sight, a normal and peaceful scene really.

As group rode into town, a few villagers gathered up to greet them. “Greetings soldiers. Roads safe and clear today?” One of the older men asked quite politely. It was obvious the people had good respect for Stark soldiers.

“For now. We had discovered a Wildling band a day north from here. Close to the King’s Road even.” Graffin answered back.

The villager seemed nervous hearing that news. “Were they chased or killed off?”

“Aye, by this fellow here.” The soldier chuckled, patting Geralt quite roughly on the shoulder although the Witcher didn’t budge even slightly. “This he is Geralt. He’s ummm…a wanderer from the far north eastern region of the north.” Geralt was surprised at Graffin cover a story about him, yet thankful for it. The villager eyed the Witcher, a surprised look showing across his face when he noticed cat like eyes.

“He has a northerner look about him. Although …what’s with his eyes? Plus never seen a man with hair and skin that ghostly.” The villager questioned.

“Long story.” Geralt quickly remarked back. “Right now these men are escorting me to Winterfell to report what happened. From my understanding these Wildlings aren’t meant to be this far south, much less a dozen of them.”

The villager nodded, seeming more focused on the matter relating to the Wildlings. “Indeed. They shouldn’t be even be on this side of The Wall. Does this mean the Night’s Watch is faulting on their watch?”  
“That will be a matter that Lord Stark will deal with. Right now we need a good horse for Geralt here and are willing to pay for it being loaned to us. I’ll make sure it’s returned and that patrols are increased on the road.” Graffin offered up, getting out silver from a pouch.

Soon the soldier and villager where busy haggling as they went to the nearby stables, while the other two guards decided to take a moment to rest.

Geralt took a moment to be by himself as he checked around the village notice board, sort of a force of habit really. Quickly he saw there was no unique requests, just local news, offers for labor work and the like. “No disappearances, odd sighting or monsters…” He muttered. It was odd thinking about it, a world where people didn’t have to fear of ghouls lurking at night, ghosts haunting their graveyards or griffins stalking the skies. Yet where did that leave him? He was a monster hunter in a world without monsters. However he remembered that wasn’t important. Right now, it was finding Ciri, wherever she was in this world.

“Geralt. Got a horse saddled up and ready.”

Again Graffin snapped Geralt out of his thoughts as the soldier had a dark brown horse guided over to him, hanging the reins over to the Witcher. “Thank you.” Geralt muttered before pulling himself onto the saddle. Turning the horse back towards the road, he’d wait for the soldiers to gather up, yet when Graffin neared, he’d suddenly tug the two Witcher swords off his saddle and offering them back to Geralt.

“Trusting me with my swords?” Geralt questioned as he grasped both weapons, strapping them both across his back.

“Consider this a sign of trust with me. You’ve behaved well enough and you never know, may need you blade if we run into trouble.” Graffin explained with a small chuckle.

“Glad I made such a good impression.” Geralt remarked back with a small nod.

“Heh, anyway…let’s get moving. I want to get to Winterfell within two days, so no lagging behind!  
…  
The group of four rode hard down the King’s Road, slowing only when their mounts became tired or stopping when nightfall came. Geralt took more time to ask about Westeros, questioning more about topics mentioned earlier. He’d learn more about the folklore of the North ranging from the legends of the First Men and Children of the Forest, The Wall, Night’s Watch and the Wildlings. Again, it was a lot to take in yet he take the time to learn as much as possible.

Once morning came, the group resumed their quick pace until Graffin slowed everyone down. “Damn, must be a new record getting here that fast.” Geralt looked off to the west, seeing across the green plains a large castle set in the distance. Even from here he could tell it was an old structure yet despite the worn look it seemed maintained and sturdy in design.

“There it is. Winterfell, crowning jewel of the North. Tales say the hold has stood for 8,000 years…quite grand age and sure looks the part.”

Geralt just nodded as he and the others rode more casually off the main road, taking another major route towards the keep. He’d see more soldiers patrolling the fields, a horn being blown in the distance to alert the group’s approach. “Heh, seems their rolling the welcoming mat for us.” Graffin chuckled as the group quickened their pace. Soon the tall walls and sturdy gate of the castle was before them, guards quickly coming to inspect them, yet letting them by after a few hushed words with Graffin.

As the gate opened, Geralt could sense something about the castle…or perhaps someone within in. As the rode into the courtyard he felt a familiar feeling against his neck, making one hand drift to his wolf medallion. For the first time since he arrived on this world it trembled, a sign of some powerful magic about.

Yet what…he wasn’t certain yet as he scanned the court yard, pausing only when he saw a young boy standing by an archery range. The boy nocked and arrow yet paused in drawing it back as he glanced at the Witcher. His head tilted slightly in curiosity as Geralt rode by before focusing back on the archery. Already Geralt had a strange feeling about the boy…one that troubled him.

 

….


	3. Season 1 - Episode 2: At the House of Wolves - Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arriving at Winterfell, Geralt has a special meeting with Lord Eddard and his family about his battle against the Wildlings. Will he find acceptance among the honorable family despite being an outsider?

 

**Season 1 Episodes 2: At the House of Wolves - Part 1**

….

Geralt slipped off his mount after a stable hand had gotten the horse tied to a post, Graffin and the other soldiers doing the same. He’d take the time to gaze around the courtyard, getting an idea of his surroundings. The overall castle was well designed, being split from his understanding into multiple quarters which were separated by smaller inner walls and interconnected buildings. From his guess, this place was at least a several acres large, fitting for a family line supposedly as old as the Starks.

“No time to gawk around Geralt. Lord Eddard is expecting us.” Graffin spoke up, getting the Witcher’s attention.

He’d give a small nod before following the soldier across the courtyard and towards the inner eastern wall where another thick wooden gate separated the spaces. Voices spoke out as the gates were opened and two filed through before being closed behind them. The eastern yard was smaller than the main courtyard yet hosted the largest building he had seen in this hold, a massive hall. The grey stoned building was covered in the banner of a snarling grey wolf, the royal sign of the Stark family. The great wooden and iron doors into the hall were opened as two armored guards saluted to Graffin he gave a respectful nod to the guards as they passed by.

The inside of the hall was quite vast, having eight long tables set evening across the room. Empty braziers were set around the center along with a big fire pit, no doubt lit during dark and colder nights. At the far end of the hall was a small platform with a ninth long table set across it with a series of comfortable wooden chairs set behind it, facing out to the hall. Three men and one woman sat at this table, the oldest of the men sitting in the largest more throne like of the chairs.

Geralt focused on the oldest individual who was at in his forties by his estimate. He wore a fine yet simple leather best with bands crossing over it along with a regal cloak with a wolf pelt across the shoulders. Even with the heavier clothes, Geralt could tell the man was very much fit for his age, honed through years of training and exercise. His hair was a fine deeper brown and beard well-kept to give him a handsome northerner look befitting of a lord. His gaze was hard to read, yet it seemed deep and thoughtful

The two younger men, at least at or reaching their twenties were no doubt his sons because of their similar looks. The one of the left had longer flowing hair of a rich darker color along with a shorter shaven beard across his face. Much like his father, he wore a leather outfit although lacking the more regal hints the lord had. As for the young man on the lord’s right, his hair was short and curly yet had the same darker brown color to it. His beard was more grown then his brother, yet finer shaped as well. His clothes were more similar to his father, perhaps hinting him being the closer in line to lordship. Both of them had a curious look at Geralt, the recognizable hint of young warriors sizing up another. He guessed the two blades on his back was what got their attention.

The last individual at the table was a woman, at least in her mid or late thirties by Geralt’s estimate. She didn’t seem like a northern like the few women he had seen, being softer and fairer looking. Her tied up hair was a lush auburn color and her eyes a piercing blue. She was dressed in a grayish blue gown, showing her quite slim figure. Her gaze seemed quite judging, cautious even from what he could tell.

Graffin stepped up before the gathered nobles, dropping to a knee and giving a short bow of his head. “Lord Eddard, Lady Catelyn, Lord Jon and Robb.” He said formally to each individual at the table. “I’m surprised you were prepared for my arrival…I didn’t expect news of-” He started before the Eddard spoke up, his voice having resounding command to it yet friendly in tone.

“We were having a small meeting among the household on other matters. Yet from my understanding you’ve traveled back here in quite the hurry along with…interesting company.” His gaze drifted to Geralt, who locked gazes with the man, remaining silent still.

“He is a traveler was found a few days north during our patrol. This man encounter Wildlings, a band of a dozen.” Graffin quickly explained, drawing looks of concern between the three men and a worried frown from the woman. “However they didn’t escape sire if anything this man slayed them all.” The two younger men looked to each other, muttering lowly as they glanced back at Geralt. The woman though had a doubting look to her. As for Ned himself…that steady gaze didn’t falter in the slightest at this new detail.

“You are certain? That is quite a claim.” Ned questioned calmly.

“I have no reason to lie about it sir. My men searched the area well enough, found no trace of anyone else fighting the raiders. No other footprints or bodies. From what I say of my companion here, he had just finished battling them when we found him.”

“I see…” Ned paused, looking back at Geralt. “Stranger, state your name if you will and tell us about this encounter.”  
Geralt stepped closer to the table, taking a small breath before speaking. “My name is Geralt of Rivia. I’m a Witcher, an elite sellsword from where I come from.” Pausing, he’d continue speaking. “I will admit sire, I don’t know how I ended up in those woods, only waking up worn and battered. One of those raiders found me, tried to lower my guard before attacking. The rest soon followed up in smaller groups...three or four from my guess. Obviously I won in the end, lucky only getting roughed up in the end. They weren’t that skilled considering past foes I faced.”

“Quite the confidence about you.” The short haired son spoke up suddenly. “Skilled or not though, you were vastly outnumbered. Surely you had something to even the odds.”

Eddard looked to his son and then back at Geralt. “My son Robb has a good point Geralt. Such a skirmish would have even the most experienced fighters at their limits. A deeper explanation be desired.”

“My style of fighting is very unique and adaptive thanks to my training along with decades of experience. Also my tools go beyond blades and more…exotic weapons which I have surrendered to Graffin.” The mention of the soldier’s name quickly drew attention back to him.

“Ah right…Geralt is correct. The clearing where the fight happened there was an explosion from what we saw. At least four of the raiders blown to bits from alchemical weapon.”

This drew a more surprised look from Ned’s gaze as he shifted forward slightly in his seat. “Just what are you Geralt? The more we question about you the more puzzling you are.” The man moved to stand up from his seat. “A man with two swords, knowledge of alchemy, hair and skin as pale as snow along with eyes fitting of a beast.” One hand tapped at the table as Ned tried to find some logical explanation about Geralt. “I feel you have a lot more to share about yourself.”

The Witcher was silent before nodding. “I do. I hope you won’t mind hearing my tale?”

Ned sat back down as he gave a small wave to Graffin. “Go ask the servants to get food and drinks ready. I feel we’ll be here for a while.”

 

…

Geralt spent a good few hours sharing his story, telling it exactly as he did to Graffin days before. He made sure to exclude any details involving the magical nature to his arrival here, Witcher or Ciri. Robb and Jon both were fascinated by the story while Ned and his wife Catelyn focused on every detail silently. He excluded the detail of monster hunting from his story which Graffin didn’t correct on, showing that the soldier didn’t care about the lacking detail.

“You have quite the fascinating past Geralt and a troubling matter with you missing daughter.” Ned remarked as the story was at last finished.

“Thank you. I’ll admit that these few days have been…stressing for me. If anything I shouldn’t even be here at all trying to find her.” Geralt remarked back.

“And why is that? I’m sure any good father would go to the ends of the world to save someone they hold dear.” Ned questioned.

“It’s a bit more…complicated than that.” After all, how was he meant to explain that Ciri had the power over space and time, much less the boggling complexities of magic? He could tell Ned was an open minded man, yet he couldn’t risk sharing such details with him…not just yet at least. “I can’t say anything more on the matter. It’s personal.”

“Keeping secrets doesn’t help your cause sir.” Catelyn remarked, her voice formal yet stern towards him. “It’s obvious you’re not from Westeros or even Essos from my understanding…so either you’re lying or hiding something.”

Geralt had to admit the woman was sharp, even again he was terrible at lying on the stop. It was hard keeping details about his world limited, yet hopefully vague enough. One thing was for sure, this woman didn’t trust him. “If I told you, you wouldn’t believe me.”

The noblewoman kept that steady gaze towards Geralt, doubtful about his claim yet Ned would quickly speak up. “The man has his reasons. It is a personal matter, one that he can freely share at a later date.” Looking back at Geralt, he continued speaking. “We can’t ignore your actions dealing with the Wildlings, thus you’re welcomed to stay here in Winterfell for as long as you wish. No doubt once you’ve rested and become familiar with the keep, you’ll feel more open to telling us more about yourself.”

Geralt didn’t expect such a patient reaction from the Lord, yet so far Eddard acted unlike any noble he had met before. He didn’t impose his title like past rulers and treated him like a normal person despite his Witcher traits. Obviously, Eddard was a level headed individual or at least honorable enough to not be demanding towards him. Or perhaps the Northerner saw him as a useful ally…although Geralt already was thinking the same thing of the lord.

“I’ll admit it’s been a tiring week for me. I just need some time to rest, eat and get my bearings.” Geralt answered back in a thankful manner. “Still I’m willing to do my part around the keep. Can work around the grounds, tend to any injured you may have or help the men train.” The mention of training had Jon and Robb mutter to each other, along with Ned giving a thoughtful look. After all they all were curious to see the Witcher was capable of. “One request I have is if I can use your library. I’d like to research on certain matters and learn as much of the Seven Kingdoms as quickly as possible.”

Ned thought for a moment before nodding. “Hmm…I see no issue with your request. For now, I recommend you take some time to look around Winterhold while the servants get your quarters arranged.”

Geralt gave a respectful nod back. “Thank you Lord Stark. If there is nothing else, I’d like to take some time alone.”

“Nothing else Geralt. I will call for you if anything comes up.”

With that, the Witcher turned to leave yet even as he moved across the hall he could hear the low mutterings between the four nobles, yet was certain they were debating about the story he had shared. Leaving the great hall, the guards shut the gate and escorted him back to the main courtyard. Graffin was nowhere to be found, no doubt taking a long break after the days of traveling.

“Seems like I am on my own.” Geralt muttered to himself, glad to no longer have anyone looking over his shoulder. If anything, he needed time to do some tests, somewhere private to see how his Signs were working. Also his wolf medallion still hummed lightly, hinting that a large source of power or someone with potent magic was nearby. His gaze drifted around the large court yard, trying to notice anything or one that stood out. However, he’d hear hushed voice, young and female in tone, coming from the archway leading to the Great Keep.

“We shouldn’t bother him Arya.” The older voice muttered nervously.

“I just wanted to see if it was true. Never seen anyone carrying two swords on their back like that.” A younger more excited voice muttered back.

“He could be dangerous. I don’t like those scars and…I heard he killed a dozen people.” The other voice argued back.

“A dozen Wildlings Sansa. The spooky raiders you whimper about whenever Old Nan tells a story.” Arya teased to Sansa.

“I do not!” Sansa snapped in an annoyed manner yet gasped when she realized Geralt was standing right there, arms crossed and giving a questioning look at the two girls.

The eldest girl was a fair young woman with long light brown hair and was dressed in a lovely northern dress and cloak. It was easy to tell by her looks and finer clothes that she was one of Lord Ned’s daughters since she had a fitting look of her parents, mainly from her mother’s side. She glanced away shyly, seeming nervous by his gruff appearance.

The young girl had darker brown hair styled into two pigtails along the sides of her head. Her dress was plainer yet more fitting for outdoors. If anything she almost reminded Geralt of a younger Ciri with the way she looked at him with curious yet confident gaze. She stare at the Witcher’s cat like eyes, a hint of surprise showing on her face for a moment.

“You do have cat eyes! And you said the guards were lying! Arya remarked at her sister, a small smirk crossing her face while Sansa muttered, no doubt having betting on the matter.

Geralt couldn’t help but give a small chuckle at her reaction. “Funny. Most people normally cower when they see them.” He remarked back. “Then again people back home are overly superstitious.”

“So is it true you’re a mercenary? They say you’re from some far off place across the Narrow Sea, a master swordsman even. I mean…that’s why you use two swords right because you wield them both?” The young girl quickly asked.

He guessed the cover story from being from this continent of Essos was spreading. So far it seemed only the older Starks and Graffin knew the vague truth about his origins.  
“Don’t normally duel wield them. Normally use steel while silver is for more special occasions.” He explained to the young girl.

“Like what? I mean isn’t silver a poor choice of metal for weapon?” Arya commented.

“Huh…reading up on weapon crafting?” Geralt questioned, not expecting someone like her to know such a detail.

She’d shrug, a small smirk on her face. “Did ask the smith’s apprentice a few questions very so often. Nan always tells myths and legends special weapons that can kill…well…”

“Monsters?” Geralt suddenly added in which caught Arya by surprise, who gave a small nod.

“Yah like that! I mean you don’t actually kill monsters though?”

Geralt paused as he thought on how to answer. “I do kill such creatures if you’ll believe it. I can say they’re real enough from what I come from. Ghouls, ghosts and the like lurking around the dark places of the world.”

Arya beamed when she heard his answer while Sansa rolled her eyes, obviously not believing what he said and thinking he was humored her younger sister. “I hope you mean it…so you better tell me a story about a hunt.” The young girl demanded.

“Of course, for another time though.” He answered back with a small smile. If anything Arya reminded him a lot of a younger Ciri which the way she acted. It at least improved his mood after the last rough few days. “I do have one question; do you have a shrine or sacred place here?”

Arya thought for a moment. “There is the small Sept of the Seven yet that is a boring place really. The Godswood and the Weirtree though-” Arya started before Sansa shushed her and spoke up.

“The Godswood is restricted though to our family and those invited into it. Arya seems to forget that detail after all.” Sansa quickly explained, speaking sternly to her young sister who grumbled in annoyance.

“I understand. I’ll have to ask you father next time then.”

Sansa just nodded before shifting back to the Great Keep door. “Anyway we have bothered you long enough Sir Geralt. My sister and hi have to go back to our practices before mother notices.” Arya gave a small sigh of boredom on the matter yet knew her sister was right.

“Goodbye Geralt! Umm…maybe you will show us how you fight during one of the training days!” Arya quickly remarked before Sansa tugged her back into the Keep.

Geralt gave a small wave as the two girl left before looking back around the court yard. To the north-west he could just make out tall trees over the many layers of walls the made up the keep. He couldn’t tell how big the wooded area was, yet from what he saw of the keep from the outside, it must be at least a few acres. He was tempted to try sneak in yet knew that be a big risk. The last thing he needed was angering the Starks while in their good graces. For now, though his attention to one of the passing guards.

“Can you point me to the guest house and library tower?” Geralt asked simply yet politely.

“Sure. The tower is just right there.” The man pointed to a large rounded tower that was set at one corner of the kenals area. “Guest House is across the Great Keep.” He’d then point to a large building that build into a part of the north western edge of the courtyard wall.

“Thank you.” Geralt answered back, the guard giving a nod before continuing his patrol. Looking to the tower, Geralt guessed now be a good time to check it out, get some light reading done before settling in for the night. The tower had two entrances, a main door at the front and a winding stairway along the tower’s side. The long guard by the door nodded as Geralt approached, entering into a lodge area with chairs and small tables set around a large fireplace which was lit with a low burning fire. There were some bookcases set around along with loose tomes set around, no doubt from pass guests or the Starks readings. A quick check showed most of the books here were about general facts and knowledge, nothing that interested him.

Moving upstairs, he’d stop when he heard a low voice, an older man from what he could tell from the tone of the voice and light coughing. The second floor had a more fitting look of a library and study about it, with tall bookshelves stretched out in rows with ladders set around to reach the higher shelves. Geralt tracked down the source cough to find an old balding man dressed gray woolen robes along with a metal chain that was wrapped around his front.

“No need to hide yourself sir.” The man said, his voice formal and clear despite his age. “If anything, it’s rare to have anyone visit the tower here, much less an outsider such as yourself.”

“You can say I’m a special. I’m Geralt of Rivia, Witcher.” He replied as he moved closer to the man, noticing he was reading over scrolls and letters spread across an angled desk.

“Rivia…huh. I know my lands well sir, yet I can’t say I’ve heard of such a country.” The old man chuckled.

“Let’s just say it’s very far off.”

The old man shrugged, a small amused grin on his face. “I believe an introduction is needed from me. I am Maester Luwin, advisor of the Stark family.”

“I take that is the job of a Maester? Sounds like quite the important title.” Geralt question.

“Ah you’d be right my friend.” Luwin answered back with a nod as he’d roll up a scroll. “We Maesters are learned men dedicated to understanding of knowledge and truth. Herb lore, medicine, warcraft, history, economics and much more. No matter how small a noble house one Maester always serves it.”

“Quite impressive considering. Where I come from such learning is reserved more privileged or wealthy and doesn't cover so many varied subjects. Oxenfort University was the closest form of high learning in the lands I come from, only having the late king to have it shut down recently.” Geralt remarked back.

“Sounds like your land was in troubled time if knowledge was being shut away like that.” Luwin muttered in a concerned manner.

“Considering the church was rounding up anyone who knew out to mix water with any plant into a salve or speak in just another language, all in the name of ending witchcraft…yah…it was troubling.”

The grim details had the Maester give a more wide-eyed look before turning to face the Witcher, his chain rattling about. “Just who are you Geralt? I was told that a scarred warrior came to out keep, a man who slew a dozen Wildlings.” The man’s eyes had a sharper look, looking over Geralt calculating as he seemed more alert then before. “Your age, I cannot determine it from a glance. The face tells me more middle aged yet the scars add more to my estimate. Physically though your body seems to be in its prime...perhaps farther then that considering. Your eyes are…” At that moment the Maester paused, having just noticed the Witcher’s feline like gaze, yet he didn’t question it just yet. “You are obviously learned considering how you speak. Can you explain the proper uses of milk of the poppy?”

Geralt knew the man was testing him and felt this maybe a good chance to win his favor. “A useful painkiller and anesthetic. Best taken in small doses from minor pains, drops mixed with drink. More serious issues should involve purer doses yet limited to avoid addiction. Back home healers prefer mixing it with alcohol for open wounds, numbs the pain and cleans the cuts.” The Witcher clearly detailed.

“Interesting. Simple yet to the point answer…the last part I’ll keep in mind since I’ve never thought to use the milk on such injuries.” Luwin muttered with a small nod. “How far does your studies go sir Geralt?”

“Most of what you cover along with more exotic subjects.” The Witcher answered back. “In my profession one needs to knowledge to get the job properly done, else that means someone getting hurt…or killed.”

“Curious. You’ll have to share more with me at a later time then.”

“Gladly.” Geralt paused though, thinking for a moment. “However could you give me a list of books? You know this place better then I. History about the Seven Kingdoms, the Houses, mythology, Night’s Watch and this Wall.”

“Quite the collection you’re asking for.” The old man moved about the library, seemingly finding every book the Witcher had asked for. “Ah if only the young masters were as inquisitive as you. They’d be wise leaders once of age.” Soon a large pile was set on the desk yet already Geralt was shifting through them, picking one a black book with a raven crest, which of the Night’s Watch, then a brown book titled Wonders Made by Men.

“Thank you. This will helpful for me.” Geralt said as he flipped through a few pages.

“What interests you so much about The Wall so much Geralt?” Luwin asked.

“A hunch really. Heard bits and pieces traveling here and I just want to be sure.” Geralt answered back as he leaned over the desk, cat like eyes rapidly scanning across the page’s words.

“Well if you have any questions, seek me out. For me…” The Maester moved to collect his letters and scrolls. “…I have arrangements to sort out. King Robert and the Lannisters will be visiting within a few months. It has been years since the King has been up north, much less seen Lord Eddard.” Sighing, he’d move to leave the Witcher alone. “Anyway, enjoy your studies Geralt.”

The Witcher nodded, having not looked away from his book as he was curious over one page detailing the Night’s Watch, mainly their founding history and purpose. Already Geralt was getting that this land had a long history stretching thousands of years. Maybe this information was misleading or just driven by myth. The book mentioned the Wildlings obviously, the wild people of the frozen north…yet one other mention was given.

“White Walkers…The Others…” Geralt muttered as he turned glanced at the book pile. He felt he needed to look into every detail about these beings. Myth or not, the vague details alone were too connecting to be coincidence. That alone made him all the more worried for Ciri.

 

…


	4. Season 1 - Episode 3: At the House of Wolves - Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now as guest at Wintefell, Geralt looks for clues about the looming threat of the White Frost. However, everyone is curious to see the fighting skill that defeated a dozen Wildlings, while Lord Stark seeks out the truth to the Witcher's mysterious past and motives. What secrets will be revealed and bonds of truth made?

 

Season 1 Episode 3: At the House of Wolves – Part 2

….

Geralt’s first week in Winterfell was a private one as he kept to his guest quarters and the Library Tower, studying through every book about this world’s history. He was surprised at just how deep and rich Westeros history was, a fascinating yet confusing read. The farther back he read the more vague and fantastical history sounded. Then again, a few hundred years ago the continent had been conquered by dragon riding nobles who has escaped an empire destroying disaster. The oldest details on the continent’s history were about First Men and the Children of the Forest, a mysterious and magical race which sounded like Godlings back home. The books all varied on what the ancient history truly was ranging from the humans and Children warring, the two living in peace or the sudden arrival of the White Walkers during the either their war or peace time.

“Now I remember why I hate oral history. Facts get muddled when they finally decide to write it all down.” Geralt grumbled as he shifted his attention to another book.

One thing that he focused on though was the White Walkers. No clear description or history was given about these beings, only that they lived in the coldest reaches of the north where no man has ever braved. Some stories detailed them as graceful elf like beings, others being an ancient human race like the Valyrian’s. Often though they are described as monstrous creatures, yet no clear description was given. However, the books detailed the signs of their arrival, that of endless life consuming winter…just like the White Frost the prophecies back home detailed. Maybe these White Walkers were the source of this Frost…or they were simply a coincidence of this world…

“Maybe they’re just a myth that I’m getting too wrapped up in.” He grumbled as again the books gave no answers, slamming the last book shut with a frustrated sigh.

Leaning back, he’d look to the nearby candles as he idly fiddled the Igni Sign with his fingers, making the flames puff out before igniting again. However, when he tried again the flames didn’t go. He was certain he did the Sign right as he tried again and a second time. A third time got the candles lit once more, making him sigh in relief.

“Signs been getting weaker each day, means the Source in this world is weak.” He muttered, having been testing his Signs secretly outside of the keep. Indeed every time he used them they were becoming harder to use and less powerful. If this had been happening back home he’d be more worried yet since this world lacked monsters he felt less concern. Fighting humans with Signs made most fights one-sided as he thought back to his encounter with the Wildlings. If he hadn’t had Quin he would have been cut down quickly and Igni had wiped out a third of the group.

“Getting too reliant.” He’d close his eyes, thinking back on Vesemir lessons during fencing training. The elder Witcher always surprised Geralt with his sword fighting skills, often relying on them more than his Signs. Thinking of his mentor did bring back painful memories, mainly his death by the Wild Hunt, yet he pushed that aside. Focusing on the present, he thought over the time he spent learning about the people who lived here in Winterfell, from the Stark family to they’re loyal household and advisors.

Overall he felt the Starks were honest and honorable nobles, a first for him considering. Most kings he had met were often looked down on him or judge him for being a mutant. Foltest was the closest friend he had had among nobility, yet he had been a flawed man as well. Ned’s only real sin was his bastard son Jon Snow, a child he sired during Robert’s Rebellion. Yet he seemed to have raised Jon properly, though Geralt could tell his wife Catelyn had a silent scorn for the young man. Still it wasn’t his business to question this family’s values, being their guest after all.

Looking out the small window in his room, he could tell that it was quite the clear and warm day with the yard being quite busy as well. The clanking of weapons from soldiers training, banging of hammer and anvil along with the laughter of children. He still couldn’t get over the normal and peaceful nature Winterfell had since even the most orderly places back on his world was suffering in some way from the Nilfgaard conquest. However, his sharp ears heard heavy footsteps just outside his door, followed by strong knock and familiar voice.

“Oi! Geralt! You’re still alive in there aren’t you?” Graffin spoke out through the heavy wooden door.

Giving a sigh, Geralt got out of his seat and moved to unlock the door to see the northern guard. The man had groomed himself since he last saw him a few days back, having trimmed up his beard and hair. He was dressed in a fitting leather jerkin like most of the men at the hold wore whenever the weather got warm enough, a suitable outfit for training and work.

The soldier glanced into the room, seeing the mess of books and papers all around the nearby desk. “If I didn’t know better I’d think you’d be aspiring to be a Maester with how much you have there.” Graffin chuckled, making Geralt give a small annoyed sigh at the jest.

“Have a lot to learn considering. A few thousand years of feudal history is a lot to take in.” The Witcher remarked back. “Besides all that, a lot of this is personal research. Important with finding my daughter.”

“Ah…Can understand your reasons there.” Graffin muttered, being more somber being reminded of Ciri. “Still it’s not healthy to be cooped up in there for days. You need to fresh air and sunlight to help with your ummm…complexion.” He’d gesture at Geralt who frowned a bit at what the soldier’s attempt to be amusing. “Look, everyone is talking about you. They want to see the lost Valyrian who crawled out of the woods.”

“Huh…guess I do look like one if the books I’ve read are correct.” Geralt muttered back.

“Eh, I think lack the dashing looks, far too gruff and scarred by my reckoning.” Graffin jested, drawing another small scowl from the Witcher.

“So getting to the point, I take you want me to go out and spar with the others? Show them how one man like me slew a dozen Wildlings?”

“Pretty much yah.” The soldier chuckled. “I’d be lying if I didn’t want to see how you fight. When I checked your blades I could tell the design implies a unique style…just not sure which.” Giving a shrug, he continued to speak. “So, are you going to stand there or go out there?”

“If it will get you and everyone off my back…fine. Guess I could use the exercise. Give me a few minutes.” Before the soldier could even speak back, he had the door closed as he’d move to get his Wolf school armor from the nearby chest. Once fully armored, he’d make his way through the Guest House and outside to the Court Yard.

 

....

His attention focused to the center of the yard were Graffin was already chatting with the gathered men, two of which he recognized as Jon Snow and older man with an odd ‘mutton chop’ hair style that tied under his chin who seemed to be drilling the soldiers.

“At last our mysterious guest reveals himself. Geralt correct? My name is Ser Rodrik Cassel, Master-At-Arms for House Stark.” The older man said, in a friendly deep voice, offering one hand towards the Witcher.

Geralt reached out and shook it, being surprise at the man’s quite strong grip considering his age. “Glad to meet you Rodrik. I apologize if I’ve been a bit reclusive, just been needing some time to rest up.”

“Understandable. At the least I’m glad you’ve come to join us for a bit of training. Bet a fellow like you can beat a little skill into the youngsters here.” The Master-At-Arms chuckled out while the younger trainees gave annoyed looks.

“Think you’re putting too much faith in the man Rodrik. He looks half stitched up with all the cuts he has and has more grays then even you.” One of the younger men spoke out, stepping out from the main group. He had been chatting with Jon, the two seeming good friends from what Geralt could tell. He also seemed out of place among the northerners in appearance yet seemed to fit in well with the group.

“Then by all means Theon, you get to fight him first if you feel so confident.” Rodrik answered back, drawing short look of surprise and nervousness from Theon.

He had heard about Theon, a political ward of Eddard’s. From what he knew from around the keep, Theon’s father was the ruler of the Iron Isles who tried to rebel against the new King Robert. Yet for a ‘prisoner’ he seemed happy and free enough with even quite the prideful ego.

Geralt smirked as the young man quickly hid his reaction, giving a huff as he’d move to the nearby weapon rack to get a training blade. “Fine…no complaints here.” He muttered as he’d flex his sword arm and get a feel of the weapon’s grip while the Witcher moved to check over the other blades.

He’d check over each of the practice swords to find the right one to fight with. By the time he picked his weapon Theon was grumbling as he was kept waiting. “About time…”  
Turning the face him, Geralt gave a few test swings and spun the blade in his grasp in a small show of dexterity to his opponent before pacing forward into the sparring circle. “Knowing your weapon is key to every fight. Gives me an edge which you lack.” He calmly informed his impatient foe.

“Smug bastard.” Theon muttered as he paced around the sparring ring. Both of them faced each other, a dozen paces away while rest of the men surrounded the ring. Rodrik looked between the two before nodding to start the fight. Geralt shifted his stance as his sword arm was out to his side and blade low, seeming open toward his enemy. The Theon narrowed his gaze, unsure what Geralt was doing yet made the first move as he’d give a yell and rush in, sword raised up to strike down at the Witcher.

Yet if anything this left the young man exposed as Geralt quickly rose his blade up to parry the attack aside before shoving the Theon forward with his left shoulder, making him stagger back. He’d flow with his movements, stepping in as blunt blade hit at Theon’s gut to draw a pained grunt from the man before Geralt shifted to the side. “Dead.” Geralt simply stated, drawing a growl from the prideful man.

This time Theon kept his distance as he’d slash out more quickly, mixing in high and low attacks. Geralt simply focused on blocking and dodging, frustrating his enemy more. “Grah! Stand still!” The next high strike he’d raise his sword up to lock blades with Theon who struggling to overcome the Geralt’s enhanced strength. Quickly Geralt twist their blades about, forcing Theon’s sword down into the soft dirt before punching him right in the gut at the same spot he had striked earlier. The blow knocked the wind out of the man, leaving him stunned as Geralt stepped in with his right foot, tripping him roughly onto his back. By the time Theon struggled to get up he had a sword tip at his throat. “Dead again.” Geralt remarked again with a small smirk. The gathered crowd chuckle while the young man growled in anger.

He’d bat Geralt’s sword aside and hurry up onto his feet, the Witcher giving him a chance to do so. “Still trying? Keep this up and you’ll have more than a bruised pride.” Geralt warned.

“Not one to give up.” Theon muttered with a tense grin across his face. “You fight defensively…not willing to risk open attack.” He’d shift to have his sword up in a guard, a quite good one from what Geralt had seen before. Geralt move in to give a testing strike, Theon blocked and giving a quick slash to keep the Witcher back. It seemed Theon was taking this fight more seriously, not being at reckless as before. The Witcher decided to take his time, practice more dueling moves instead of the more complex attacks he often used against monsters.

For a moment Geralt debated on how to counter attack, thinking to outmaneuver him for a side or back attack. However he decided it was time to use a more unique attack to test Theon and be a show of his own skill. Putting some distant between him and Theon, he’d drift his blade low before stepping forward, raising the practice sword up and about before twisting about. The young man gave a surprised yelp as Geralt began to spin and slash about, blade whirling rapidly while a panicked Theon back stepped. Theon struggled to fend off the quick attacks as his sword clang against Geralt’s spinning blade, causing the weapon being knocked out of the young man’s grip. Disarmed, Theon tensed as the blunt sword spun down towards his neck, just stopping inches away. The young noble was panting from the exertion and hint of fear, sweat on his brow as he looked right at Geralt’s calm face.

The crowd of men stared, shocked looks showing among the younger recruits while the older members muttered about, obviously impressed. In the end Geralt put his sword away before offering a hand to Theon, who still winded after that whirling attack. “Handled yourself pretty well.” Geralt remarked he’d pull Theon up, who’d quickly dust himself off from the fall before picking up his sword.

“Thanks I guess…still never seen an attack like that.” The young man muttered as he rubbed at his bruised stomach and moved out of the sparring ring. He’d move up to Jon and quickly the two began to chat with the Stark seeming to be asking many questions.

“Once saw a Dornish blades men fight spin about like that…just with spear or saber.” One older soldier commented.

“Aye but Geralt’s has more power behind those blows. A solid block would have a Dorn tumbling off his feet! Has more of that Northern or Stormlander ferocity to it.” Another soldier remarked as the men were debating about the fight.

“By the Seven you’re acting like gossiping maids!” Rodrik grumbled, making the others quiet down. “From what I heard you trained at some hidden keep right? How did they train you in fighting?” The master-at-arms questioned.

“Trained in learning multiple fighting styles from different countries and cultures. Different moves and stances are used to give us a flexible yet unpredictable. Considering it was made to fight unconventional enemies…well…you get the idea.” The Witcher explained. “Had my whole life to practice and add my own personal touch to it.”

“Still plan to spar a bit more?” Rodrik questioned. “I’m sure one of the veterans will really test yah.”

Geralt though for a moment before nodding. “Sure…yet pair me against two or three of them.” His request had Rodrik give a surprised look.

“Going three against one? I don’t doubt your skills Witcher but…”

“If you’re concerned, don’t worry. The others seem a bit eager as well...I can handle it.” Geralt reassured the old man.

Rodrik gave a shrug before looking to the group, where already a few were volunteering. Graffin grinned as he’d pick up sword while two other gruff soldiers got training swords as well. Geralt took the time to stretch a bit as the three moved to partly surround him, Graffin facing him while the two were more to the side. Looking between them all, they had focused looks as they took their fighting stances. “Try not to hold back Geralt. Hate to be disappointed.” Graffin remarked as Geralt took his fighting stance. The Witcher just narrowed his gaze at Graffin who’d give a short yet before charging forward.

Geralt didn’t hesitate as he step forward, blade up in a guard as he’d block the incoming attack yet twist about in a spinning slash. Graffin just dodged away yet the Witcher’s move had another purpose of parrying the soldier on the right who moved in for a stab. The soldier staggered back before grunting out as Geralt striked him across the chest before reaching his sword arm behind his back to block the third soldier who tried to attack him from behind.

“How did you-“ The man started before Geralt’s turned fully about, sword cutting for the man’s gut which the soldier blocked, yet left him open for a cracking strike from Geralt right elbow across his jaw. The Witcher didn’t stand still as he’d move to the man’s right side, getting the soldier in-between Graffin who was moving in closer. His practice blade flowed with his movement as he’d slice at the man’s leg, the blunt blade cracking against the back of the knee and having enough force to knock the man onto his back. The soldier was out of the fight as he’d grasp at his knee in pain, no doubt the joint being cracked from the blow. With a real blade, the man would have gotten his leg lopped off easily.

“Damn you’re agile!” Graffin growled as he and the other soldier moved in together, planning on attacking as one. Geralt nearly raised his left hand to make an Arad sign out of habit, yet stopping himself from using it. The two men shifted with who attacked as Graffin opened with a downward chop before stepping back to let his ally move in for a stab. Forcing Geralt onto defensive, the Witcher worked his blade about in a flurry of parries while constantly dodging and shifting about at the same time. Yet the two lost their time as they both striked at the same time, letting Geralt block both blades in a short clash. Despite the two trying to break his guard, Geralt growled out as he’d force both men back. With their defenses down, he’d step in sword up, striking at Graffin shoulder to knock him down onto one knee while at the same time his right leg swept at the last solider, tripping him onto his back. Twisting about he’d jab his blunt sword at the fallen soldier’s chest, drawing a grunt of pain from him before then turn back to Graffin who soon as the sword blade at his throat.

Graffin glanced at Geralt, panting from the intense fight while the Witcher seemed hardly winded. “Gods man…You weren’t joking around.” He muttered before Geralt pulled the blade away and pulled the man up onto his feet. The Witcher moved to help the other soldiers up although the one he had hit in the back of the knee winced as he’d hobble on his leg.

“Ugh…could have pulled back on that last hit.” He muttered as he rubbed at the injured spot.

“I was.” Geralt answered calmly back, a chilling remark that had the man gulp nervously.

Rodrik chuckled while the gathered men cheered and clapped, amazed at the fight they had just seen. “Can say I’ve only seen a few men fight best a group as much. Ned, Robert and Jamie being prime examples.” Glancing around the yard though the master-at-arms noticed Lord Stark and his wife approach the group, no doubt having watched it from one of the inner wall outlooks.

Everyone gave a small nod of respect towards the two nobles once they stopped before them. Ned look between Theon, Jon, Rodrik and then Geralt give a small smile to them. “Seems like the sparring circle is lively today. Perhaps we should make Geralt here our new Master-At-Arms.”

“Ugh! A cruel jest my lord.” Rodrik grumbled yet smirked back in amusement.

“The last man I fought with such skill was Artheur Dayne during the Rebellion. Never thought I see someone with equal skill.” Eddard praised, making Geralt nod back in thanks. “Compliments aside, I take you’ve enjoyed your stay so far?”

“I have. Admittedly I’m not use to such hospitality.” Geralt answered back. “Normally nobles who invite me into their homes often had a request to ask of me.

“Heh, do I seem like a man with a hidden agenda?” Ned chuckled. The Witcher just gave a shrug before the lord look to the group of men. “Need to take the Witcher off your hands for now. Besides if I left him with you all he’d have Maester Luwin busy for weeks patching you all up.”

The men laughed out before Rodrik began to give orders, telling the Graffin and his companions to take a break while he’d have the younger recruits get back to drills. Eddard beckoned Geralt to walk with him, yet Jon stepped up to speak to Geralt.

“Geralt, perhaps later on you could spar with me. Show me how you have move around like you did against the others.” The young man said respectfully. “Father and Rodrik has taught me much already, yet I feel you could give me a few pointers.”

“Can’t hurt I guess. Have a lot of free time on my hands.” He answered back.

“Thank you! Will a week from today be good?”

Geralt gave a small nod, making Jon give a small smile before returning to talk to Theon over the news. The Witcher hurried to catch up with Ned who was busy talking with his wife which he could just overhear. “Cat, how about you go check up with the girls. Make sure Arya isn’t fooling around during her studies.”

“I suppose…yet are you sure its fine to be alone with that man?” Caitlyn muttered back.

“Of course. You need to relax Caitlyn. Scars and eyes aside, he’s no different than any man I’ve known. Luwin has already vouched for him as well and you see how the others respect him.

“I just know he’s hiding something. I keep thinking over his story…he’s not sharing everything-”

“Which is what I plan to figure out. Trust me Cat.” Ned gave a soft kiss to her lips, making her give a sigh as she decided to drop the subject along with realizing Geralt was nearing them. Giving a small hug, she’d move off to the Great Keep, leave Ned with the Witcher.

“Quite the caring wife you have.” Geralt remarked as he’d walk along aside Ned as the lord led the way towards the north western part of the yard.

“Indeed. Our marriage was arranged yet we’ve grown to love each other early after our vows.” Eddard explained. “She’s protective and may seem judgmental, yet I value her options deeply.”

“So why does she distrust me so much?”

Ned shrugged. “Maybe it’s appearance. The scars may not faze me or the other men to her it’s a sign of danger. After seeing the way, you fight it’s obvious that fighting is your way of life…and she’s a woman who detests people dedicated to conflict.”

“My profession isn’t like that.” Geralt calmly stated.

“You’ve kept that quite vague really. You claim to be a hunter yet I’ve never heard of a man who chases wolves and bears with a long sword. It’s impractical…unless your prey are men.”

“Not a bounty hunter if that’s what you’re suggesting.”

“Of course not.” The two arrived at portcullis gate set between the Guest House and Library Tower. Already the guards were raising it to reveal a lush forest set beyond them, which Geralt realize was the Godswood he had heard about. “Yet I feel you will tell me in the end.” With that said, he’d lead the way into the private woods, Geralt following along.

 

….

The Godswood was a beautiful sight, almost feeling like they had left Winterfell completely and into the heart of the northern woods. For a moment Geralt a silent along with Ned, listening to the lively birds and animals that roamed the large walled forest. After a long while, the two soon arrived at a big grove with a tanquil pond at its center. Beside the water was a towering, thick white barked tree with blood red leaves adorning it’s hanging branches. At its base there was a plain face craved at it, a strange addition considering. Ned would soon stop beside the pool, his gaze set on the Weirtree.

“Have you read about our land’s faiths? About the Old Gods and the New?” He questioned the Witcher.

“A bit. Religion isn’t a topic I look into during my studies.” Geralt answered back. “Still the Old Gods I know is Westeros’s oldest beliefs. A simple faith compared to most.”

“The Faith of the Seven is more favored in these times. Still, the North follows the old beliefs.” Ned remarked with a small nod. “I don’t know if the Gods are real or not…yet I can’t deny that fate plays oddly with our lives.” Pausing, he’d look to Geralt before continuing. “I can tell that there is something special about you. It isn’t a feeling I can simply explain…a gut instinct if I had to put it simply.”

“It’s a sense I can say I’ve relied on and one we can often trust.” Geralt muttered back.

Ned nodded in agreement. “I know you have reasons to keep secrets from us. A man has a right to share only what he wishes so long as others are not harmed by silence. I think your silence though only hurts yourself.”

Geralt was silent, quietly agreeing that Ned had a point on the matter. “Perhaps…yet I bet you’d think I’m crazy if I told you everything.”

Ned chuckled as he’d move to sit by the Weirtree while Geralt followed and sat on a smooth rock set nearby. “There is no else here to judge or doubt you, just me and the woods. I’m a patient man Geralt and we have plenty of day light left.”

Geralt sighed as he scratched the scruff on his chin. If anything this reminded him of the time Vernon Roach interrogated him…although that had been in a dank dungeon with him falsely claimed as a king slayer. “Fine then…may as well get it off my chest.” He muttered. “I’m not from some obscure land across the ocean, but from whole other world…”

 

….

Hours passed as Geralt shared every detail with Eddard. The full story and purpose of the Witchers, the shortened details on the political conflict back home and the twisted fate his life had been over the last few years. He spoke about the monsters, magic, elves and dwarves that mixed among the lives of humans. Then at last he shared the prophecy of his world’s end and the fate Ciri had in saving it. Despite how fantastical it was, Ned kept such a calm look as if trying to see a hint of deceit from Geralt, yet the Witcher kept that set look during his long story.

“Wild Hunt…White Frost…Elder Blood.” Ned shook his head slightly. “I feel you’re in the wrong profession Geralt. You’d be famous a writer of fiction.”

“Doubting everything I’ve shared?” Geralt questioned calmly.

“A few bits. Maybe you are exaggerating on some aspects yet I see no reason why you’d lie about such a detailed world like your own.” Ned clarified.

“Better then you ordering the guards to cart me off to a padded cell.” Geralt said with a small smirk.

“I’m more doubtful about your claims of magic though. In earlier years many believed the alchemists to be mages who could burn the flesh of their enemies or meddle the minds of honest men. Of course it turned out to be nothing more than mixtures and trickery.” Ned questioned.

“It’s real for sure. Just my existence to because of magic, it’s what made me a Witcher.” Geralt replied.

“Actions speak louder than words.” Ned countered, drawing a sigh from Geralt.

“Is better not land me on a burning stake.” He grumbled as he’d stand up, facing towards the small pond. With his left hand, he’d make the Arad sign and push his hand forward as a strong burst of telekinetic energy surged forward in an arc, enough to make the leaves of the Weirwood rustle and the water of the pond to splash about in a short wave. Glancing back at Ned, the lord had calm look yet his eyes showed the shock and confusion at what he had just saw. Geralt would simply sit down, staring at Ned as he waited for a reaction.

“Just...how did you do that?” Eddard muttered, fascinated yet tense after what he saw.

“A Sign, one of five. Its basic magic really that all Witchers know. A sorceress or mage can do far more such as heal the injured, conjure the elements, place curses and much more.” The Witcher explained before looking at his left hand. “Yet here my Signs are becoming weaker. Not sure why just yet, just have theories.” Pausing, he’d look back at Ned who seemed to have calm down slightly. “I trust you’ll keep this between us.”

“I doubt anyone would be believe me if I did.” Ned remarked with a small chuckle. “If anything I was expecting a more flashy display.” Rubbing his hands together slightly, he’d take a deep breath. “You’ve been good a keeping such abilities hidden, so I’m glad you trusted me with such knowledge.”

Geralt nodded thankfully, surprised that Ned handled the news quite well, even if he seemed shaken from the reveal. “So what next?”

Ned was silent as he’d think for a moment before speaking. “There is one aspect to your tale that does greatly interest. This White Frost…this prophecy you described. It’s almost exactly like the tales of the Long Night…at least in the outcome.”

“Did read about that. The war between the First Men and Children against the White Walkers. From my understanding that war is how your family came to rule the North.”

“Aye…my father and my father’s father and beyond that shared the original tale. Sort of a tradition to make sure we never forget it.” He’d pause, staring at the calm pond and at the orange life gleaming from the low sunlight peeking through the red leaves above him. “I doubt our ancestors build the Wall to keep a horde of wild men from ravaging the Kingdoms…no it was for something more and lately the reports the Night’s Watch have shared concern me.”

“What do you mean?” Geralt questioned.

Ned shook his head and gave a sigh. “I can’t say for certain…not yet.” Again he paused, glancing back at Geralt. “Yet our legend matches closely to your prophecy. The end of our world at the hands of an endless winter. But what does this Ciri have to do with it all, having this Elder Blood as you mentioned?”

“Ciri is descended from an ancient bloodline with a powerful connect to magic, unmatched by anyone in my world. It gives her the power to move freely between time and space...yet from what I’ve seen do possibly far more.” Geralt answered back. “As for what she was to do to stop the Frost...I don’t know. The prophecy says nothing, only that one of Elder Blood can stop it.”

“Yet from what you said she did go to confront it? Did she stop it?”

Geralt was silent for a long moment, looking down as he questioned that as well. “I don’t know. Maybe she did but is trapped…could be dead as well…or she failed…”

“Don’t let such doubts fill your head Geralt. Nothing is certain just yet.” Ned quickly interrupted, seeing the creeping despair that just hinted the Witcher’s eyes.

The Witcher sighed and nodded before looking back up at Ned. “Bloodline aside, she has a duty back home.”

“Becoming Empress of the largest empire as you hinted.” Ned remarked. “This Nilfgaard sounds like it rival the Seven Kingdoms in size and power.”

“With the Northern Kingdoms in their hands it will surpass it.” Geralt stated. “That aside though I guess I’d better get to the point…is there anything you can do to help me find her?”

“I can inform my men and the other holds of the North to keep an eye out for this woman. However there is a lot of open wilds in the North…and we’ve can’t exclude that she is beyond the Wall.” Ned answered back.

“Can’t the Night’s Watch go beyond and look for her?” Although even he realized how desperate that was. If the known maps were correct the lands beyond the Wall were vast and harsh along with filled with Wildlings…possibly even worst things as well.

“I can’t force them to do anything. Only King Robert has such authority.” Ned quickly explained. “Even then the Night’s Watch is a shadow of what it was in the past. Its numbers are barely a thousand and most are criminals or the desperate. In the past it was an honor to join the Watch, not a punishment or escape for one’s crimes.”

“Alright…dwindling choices. Maybe I should go off on my own then.” Geralt suggested.

“Geralt, while I know you’re a capable man that would be suicide. Only the most skilled rangers have gone far into the lands beyond the wall. Few ever made it back and most have been the North’s greatest trackers and hunters.” Ned warned.

“I’m no ordinary hunter though.” Geralt simply stated.

“Yes, but running off blindly isn’t going to help.” Thinking, Ned continued to speak. “Robert could help. He’s a good man and I’m certain the news about the Wildlings will give you some favor with him. With his influence he could get you an experienced group of men, organize the Night’s Watch, fund supplies and more.”

“I’d rather not get involved in politics. The last time I did it ended badly.” Geralt remarked back.

“Sadly just staying with us gets you involved. Lately times have been…tense between us and the Lannisters, a southern House that helped the Rebellion succeed towards the very end of the war.” From Ned’s tone he sounded a bit bitter on the matter, the first time Geralt had seen the man in such a way.

“From my understanding the Lannister’s helped you take King’s Landing though some questionable means.” Geralt answered back, having read up deeply on the Rebellion.

“They’ve been grabbing for power ever since, be it through Tywin or his daughter Cersei who is the queen. I’m worried that they have plans that will endanger the Kingdoms and Robert.” Eddard explained.

“Huh…Tywin…” Oddly just the descriptions of the man from the books he had read and stories he had heard sounded familiar to one overly-controlling emperor. He did remember Triss and Yen mentioning dimensional theory once, about how other could worlds had relatable events or people within them. Of course, that was just a theory.

“They’ve been keeping a close eye on us since we’re one of their strongest rivals among the Kingdoms. They no doubt have informants who will note your arrival. What they will make of it I can’t be certain.” Ned rubbed at his chin, sighing a bit in frustration. “I’ll confess Geralt, courtly intrigue isn’t something I favor. I prefer facing such problems directly not through scheming.”

The Witcher nodded in agreement on the matter. “Yet here you are discussing it. Rather you get to the point Lord Stark.” His tone was a bit more annoyed, almost rude considering.

Still, Ned couldn’t help but smirk at Geralt’s directness. “The Hand of the King is dying…maybe even dead already. Maybe it is age, sickness or poison. Point is Robert and the Lannisters are touring the Kingdoms and will be arriving here within a month. I know Robert…he’s going to ask me to be his new Hand.”

Already Geralt was thinking, realizing what Ned was hinting at. “You want me to help you somehow and in return you’ll help me find Ciri?” The Witcher questioned.

Eddard nodded. “As the Hand I have access to the Kingdom informants, connections to resources and the best men Westeros can offer. Everything you’d need to scour beyond the Wall.”

“Lord Stark…Why share such details with me? You’ve known me for a bit over a week yet I feel this is information you should be sharing with Luwin or Rodrik.” Geralt remarked back.

“I have informed them of my thoughts and they have shared their advice. Yet you are an outsider entirely from Westeros, you have no true connections of affiliations yet a vast experience dealing with nobility and politics.” Ned countered back. “In these times, I feel outsider;s opinion, such as yours, be worthwhile to hear.”

“The Witcher’s code doesn’t-” Geralt started before Ned again spoke up.

“That is a weak excuse Geralt. After everything you’ve told me, you’ve let your morals and sense of right decide on when to be involved or not.” Pausing, he’d continued “I’m not asking you to do this for my House’s benefit. I’m not doing this for selfish gains like the lords and kings you’ve met before, this is about ensuring peace among the realm and keeping an old friend safe.”

“My lord, even the best of intentions have consequences. I’ve seen it time after time. Always it leads to innocent people dying and renewed conflict.” Geralt tried to argue back.

“I understand the risks. I’m not planning to war with the Lannisters or make a grab for the Iron Throne. I want none of that.” Pausing, he’d tap one hand against his knee in thought. “I don’t plan to rush into this, yet I feel your skills would be useful if trouble is to come. You don’t have to swear or promise everything, just consider my request.” Ned shifted to stand up and paced past Geralt, placing a strong hand on Geralt’s shoulder. “You’re an honest man Geralt. I swear everything you’ve shared with me will be just between us.”

The Witcher was silent before nodding. “Thank you. Expect the same from me on what you’ve discussed.”

Ned nodded before moving away, letting Geralt get up and follow the Northern Lord back through the Godswoods and back to the court yard as the evening creeped in, the low sun casting a beautiful light across all of Winterfell.

 

….

By now the men and workers were finishing up their duties for the day, showing just how long the two had been talking within the walled forest. Across the yard by the Great Hall gates, the rest of the Stark family were gathering up for dinner, Arya seeing her father started waving towards him. Ned waved back before looking to Geralt. “Plan to join the household for dinner? You’ve been staying up in that room for too long after all, so why don’t you stay around.” The Lord offered.

“That is kind of you yet I should get back to my research.” Geralt remarked in an excuse.

“Geralt…one dinner isn’t going to decide the fate of the world if that is what you’re worried about. “ Ned chuckled. “Enjoy the hospitality we offer. You deserve it after all you’ve been through.” With that he’d move to greet his family, hugging his younger children and wife while chatting with his sons.

The Witcher watched, conflicted after his lengthy conversation with Lord Stark. He couldn’t deny the respect Eddard had shown, accepting him despite his Witcher nature or even knowing about the magic he had. Even the most open minded lords back home judged him on these aspects, yet Ned judged him on character and personal interaction. He was hesitant to get mixed into the lived of this decent family, having a deep feeling that their lives face a dark turn.

Already he debated on what to do…could just run off…avoid the possible conflict he may face. Yet in the end Ned was right, he needed help if he was going to find Ciri, braving the world alone would just have him wander aimlessly or maybe even get himself killed.

“Damn it…” Geralt muttered, again looking to the family as they seemed ready to go into the Great Hall. Jon and Robb glanced over at him, curious if he come along. Arya was waving, calling out to him. “Come on Geralt!”

In the end, the Witcher sighed before moving across the yard, following the Starks into the Great Hall for dinner. For one of the few times in his difficult life, he’d laugh and share tales with younger Starks and the boisterous household. For once in many years he felt truly accepted…an odd feeling truly to him.

 

….


	5. Season 1 - Episode 4: At the House of Wolves - Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt tests Jon Snow's fighting skill and start training a younger student. Respected among the people of Winterfell, the Witcher is invited to come to a grim trial against a deserter from the Wall, claiming to have seen unnatural horrors.

 

 

**Season 1 Episode 4: At the House of Wolves Part 3**

**…**

Nearly another week had passed since Geralt had his private conversation with Eddard Stark, sharing the full truth about how he ended up in Westeros and about Ciri. The Witcher had split his time between reading what he could at the Library Tower yet also taking part at the sparring ring more often. Usually he’d train the recruits on the basics of sword fighting or spar with one of the more experienced men who wanted to test himself. So far, no one had been able to get so much as a light blow against him. Theon had even asked for a rematch which he politely refused despite the Iron Islander’s bluster. Today was special since it was time to meet with Jon Snow and follow up on his promise to do some training with young man.

It was another clear and sunny day at Winterfell as Geralt walked outside into the yard. Today the soldiers weren’t training since recently Eddard had asked for them to go out to patrol the roads of the North along with spread a message to look for a silver haired woman with a scar across her face. Geralt hadn’t expected such a hasty action from Lord Stark, yet it was a good gesture of faith in the end. Putting those thoughts aside, his attention focused on Jon who was busy practicing against a one of the training dummies. For a moment Geralt stood back to watch Jon, the young man having good foot work with the way he moved and attacked. He favored a strong two hand style yet knew when to swing with one hand. If anything, he almost fought like a Witcher, just lacking the spins and twisting moves that Geralt often used.

“Not bad…though a real foe doesn't just stand still and take hits.” Geralt spoke up, getting Jon’s attention.

The Stark bastard chuckled, brushing his black curly hair back as he’d turn to face the Witcher. “True enough. Still, never hurts to practice the basics right?” Jon countered back.

Geralt shrugged as he’d move over to the nearby weapon rack, picking out a fitting practice sword for himself. “That’s what I’ve been doing every sparring day so far.” The Witcher calmly stated as he’d face Jon again who paced towards the sparring ring.

“Really now? You’re telling me your holding back against everyone you’ve fought here?” Jon questioned, chuckling in disbelieve at the claim.

Geralt kept that calm look, yet a small smirk did hint his lips. “Considering the people and creatures I’ve fought…yes. If I was serious they’d have more than cracked bones and bruises.” Shifting his stance, he’d grasp his sword with both hands as he stared right at Jon with his piercing yellow eyes. “So, are we going to chat or begin?”

Jon paused as he thought over the Witcher’s answer before taking his own fighting stand which nearly mirrored Geralt’s. “Then don’t hold back against me.” The Stark said, tone dead serious and gaze having an intense focus.

For a moment neither moved and if anything their inaction had the few onlookers mutter in confusion. In the end Geralt lunged in, swinging downward with his blade while Jon stepped, his sword up to block it. Blades clashed yet the two moved as they back stepped then circled about only to move in for another attack. The two continued to move and strike about, never overextending themselves offensively or going too far on the defensive. Geralt had to admit Jon knew how to avoid a parry, going for controlled attacks and avoiding a straight on attack. It showed that he had been studying the Witcher closely after the last few days of sparring. If anything, it was impressive how prepared Jon was for this fight.

At one point both rushed at each other, both blades locking in a clash as the two struggled against each other. Geralt was stronger than most men yet Jon had changed his footing to brace himself, remembering how the Witcher overpowered others during such sword locks. In the end both backed off, pausing for a moment to catch their breath.

“Impressive. Seems like you already learned a lot from just watching me.” Geralt remarked as his stance relaxed.

Jon nodded, panting a bit since Geralt’s strength and speed had pushed the young man to match up. “Did notice how nothing else was working with the others. They all tried a direct approach, never thinking to adapt.” Jon explained as he’d get some water from a waterskin nearby. “Was hoping to just get at least one hit, but it seems for now avoiding a thrashing will have to do.”

“A good start if any.” Geralt remarked back with a nod before moving up to get a drink of water as well.

“After all, I need to be at my best if I plan to serve at the Night’s Watch.” Jon added, making Geralt give a surprised look to the young man.

“Joining the Night’s Watch, why would you do that?” The Witcher questioned. “From what I know the Watch isn’t what it used to be ever since they gave the choice for criminals to join their ranks just to escape jail or execution.”

Jon gaze a side glance away, nodding a bit. “I’ve heard of that…try to think it’s not as bad as it sounds. Just rumors and such. Uncle Benjen has visited a few times, told me about the honor and duty with taking the oath and wearing the Black.” Yet for the Witcher, he felt the young man was making excuses for himself to believe

“Didn’t know Ned had another brother.” Geralt questioned, Jon nodding in response.

“Benjen often kept to himself. I don’t know why he decided to serve with the Watch. Maybe just a sense to duty or personal choice.” Jon shrugged and sighed. “Besides I feel I have no other choice. Winterfell is my home yet…there is nothing much for me here.”

“Right…I forget…” Being a bastard still carried the same rules and sigma here just like in his world. Still Jon was lucky to have a good father and half-brothers. If anything, Robb and Jon had a natural affinity that even the truest of siblings lacked. Even Theon was literally a brother to him as well, even if he jested often at him. “I get your reasons. Still, you’re fine giving up the freedom to…well…start a family of your own?”

Jon gave a small shrug yet a shy look hinted in his eyes. “I…ehh…never really thought about that.” He muttered, shifting a bit. “Just been having other things on my mind.”

Geralt gave a questioning look and crossed his arms. “Really? The dashing son of the noble Lord Eddard never notice a maiden or two wooing for his attention?” The Witcher jested.

“A bastard.” Jon grumbled, as if that was excuse.

“Bastard or not, I know plenty of women who fawn for a young man like you. Trust me, a life of celibacy isn’t worth it. You should at least know the comfort of a loving woman at least once.” Geralt’s bluntness had Jon blush lightly.

“Just been focused on other matters.” Jon remarked as he’d put his practice sword away. “Yet what about you? You don’t exactly look like the man who’d settle down with any normal woman.”

Geralt became silent because of that question, making Jon give an odd look. The Witcher realized he hadn’t thought about Yen since leaving her back at the tower so many weeks ago. Maybe he was used to the fact that she could handle anything by herself, being one of the world’s most powerful sorceresses. Yet he felt that uncertainty about what was happening back in his world…if it was suffering a second Conjunction or the White Frost. For all he knew she was no doubt trying to find him, all the while cursing at his rashness. That thought alone brought a small hint of a smile to his lips.

Jon spoke up again, snapping Geralt out of his thoughts. “Ah sorry…I realize that is a personal question to ask.”

Geralt shook his head. “It’s fine. Been asked worse questions.” He’d pause for a moment before continuing. “Still I don’t feel like discussing about my companions. Something for another day.”

“Umm…anyway don’t you plan to go to the Wall? Talk to the Lord Commander and try to organize some search for Ciri.” Jon asked, changing back to the original topic.

For a moment Geralt thought, thinking over his talk with Ned and all the stories the people of the keep said about the harsh land beyond the wall. “Maybe...been debating considering the trip that far North would be a nearly a week’s worth. Rather not be running all across the continent and getting nothing done.” He answered back. “Your father said King Robert could help me, get me the aid I need to search the North. King’s Landing maybe where I end up.”

“Seems like you’ll have to make a choice in the end.” Jon remarked, making Geralt nod in agreement.

“At the least, I’ll decide by the end of the King’s visit.” Geralt explained. “For now all I can do is study as much as I can about the Wall and beyond it. First rule of a Witcher is to always be prepared and if nothing works out with the Watch or the King…may just have to go out alone.”

“You know that is suicidal.” Jon warned, much like his father on the same subject.

“Heh…you have no idea how many times people have said that to me.” Geralt remarked with a small chuckle as he’d pace around the sparring ring. “Again, just my last option.”

Jon seemed troubled with the matter yet didn’t argue any more with the Witcher. “Anyway, I should return to my chores and other duties.” He muttered as he’d glance towards the Great Keep. “Again, thank you for the sparring match and talking with me. You’ve given me a lot to think about.”

The two firmly shook hands before Jon hurried off for the keep, leaving Geralt alone for now. He’d move for the Guest House yet paused when he saw someone by the shooting range, the young Bran who had been watching the whole fight.

“Spying are you?” Geralt jested as the boy stepped out of hiding, giving a small shrug and smile back. He hadn’t had a chance to talk to Bran one on one, often only chatting with him during the few dinners he had shared with the family. The boy seemed happy and active like his older brothers, yet every time he encountered the child, his medallion just slightly hummed. Even after a few weeks of study and talking with the Stark family, he found no real clues on why.

“Wanted to see you fight Jon. Was much more interesting than all the past fights since Jon didn’t get beaten.” The young Stark commented. “Do you think he could beat you? I mean Robb and dad are good from what I know…yet Jon seems to be getting better the Robb.”

“Haven’t see your other brother fight yet but…I think give Jon a few more years and he may just.” The Witcher answered back. “If anything he would have been a fitting Witcher. He has the right traits and skills to become one.”

“Really!” Bran remarked in an excited manner, making Geralt nod back. “So I was thinking could you train me? I’m still only using wooden swords and dad has me learning the bow…yet I always have trouble pulling the string back and mess up with my aim. Maybe you know a trick you could share?”

“Heh…admittedly bows is something most Witcher didn’t learn. Yet I started using a crossbow for a good while.” Geralt answered back as he’d glance down the archery range. “Give me a moment.”

Bran nodded as Geralt hurried to the Guest House and to his room, going through his packed gear to pick out his Feline School crossbow. The weapon was finely crafted, made hardened wood along with being reinforced with monster bone and hair. While it was a small crossbow, he had shot down plenty of harpies and gryphons with the compact weapon. Gathering up his bolts, he’d return to Bran who gave a curious look at the crossbow.

“I remember seeing that one your back when you first arrived. I didn’t know you could afford a crossbow.” The young Stark remarked.

“Custom made and of Witcher design. Not a big as a normal crossbow, but useful for drawing out in the middle of a fight, plus easy to reload…well for me at least.” Geralt explained, as he let Bran examine the unloaded weapon. Considering his younger age, he could two hand the weapon easy like a normal sized crossbow.

“Could you show me how it works?” Bran asked with a hopeful look.

“Alright, just follow my directions carefully.” Geralt answered back with a small nod.

The Witcher would spend a good while showing the boy how the crossbow worked, from how to load it and properly holding it. He’d take a few shots both one hand and with both, using his honed skill and senses to land perfect shots. When it was Bran’s turn, Geralt had the boy take his time aiming down the weapon sights and how to hold his breath to get a steady shot. He’d hit the targets at the least and after a few more shots started getting closer to the center.

“Much easier than a bow.” Bran remarked as he handed Geralt back the crossbow along with the bolts.

“Crossbows makes it easier to aim without having to worry about bow draw and the like. Issue is it’s slower then a bow and can lack in range in certain situations. Plus, quite costly to forge and fix.” Geralt explained to Bran. “Still it seems suitable for you.”

Bran nodded in agreement. “Still could you show me how to use a sword like you? I mean…not sparring like the others, just more of pointers on what to do.” He then asked a bit nervously.

“Huh…haven’t trained anyone as young like you since Ciri.” Geralt muttered, thinking for a moment while Bran gave a small pleading look. “Fine, but I expect full effort on your part.”  
Bran nodded quickly, happy with the answer. “Promise.” He answered back, making Geralt him a small smile. “Anyway, I guess I should get back to studying before mother complains. Thanks for teaching me Geralt!” The boy gave a small wave before hurrying off to the Great Keep.

Geralt started having second thoughts on the agreement, wondering if Catlyn approve of him training the boy. Yet he guessed he’d deal with that later as he’d head back to the Guest House and continue his researching.

 

 

…

The days went by as Geralt would start sparring against Jon, Robb and Theon. Robb proved to be just as good as Jon, matching up to his half-brother’s skill. Theon improved as well yet his overconfidence and hotheadedness held him back. Yet he pressed them every time and even showed them how to fight as a group as he even had them fight three go against him. Their fight had drawn a large crowd as Geralt put on a bigger show of his acrobatic sword fighting skill. He’d duck, leap, roll and slide to avoid their attacks. The surprised looks showed how people doubted someone like him could move in such a way, yet that is what gave him an edge.

By the time their latest fight ended, all three were gasping for breath while Geralt seemed only winded. At the least they had avoided being bruised by the blunt training sword, having taken a good effort to dodge and block properly.

“Gods Geralt…” Robb muttered as he’d stand up straight after catching his breath. “Can’t deny that you’ve shown us a new meaning to sword fighting, yet I doubt we’ll met anyone that can move like you.”

The Witcher smirked as he’d put his training sword away and get the waterskin and wooden mugs for them all. “Then that means when you fight anyone else you should best them then.” He remarked.

“A good point there.” Theon laughed as he’d take a long drink from his mug.

“Maybe father should duel you next?” Jon jested, making everyone look to the looming wall walkway where Ned and Catelyn stood by, having watched the fight.

The northern lord laughed at the remark and his wife seeming a bit amused as well. “It be an interesting fight for sure, yet I feel I lack practice to handle someone like the Witcher.” Ned remarked back. However, before he could say anything more Rodrik would approach Ned and quickly mutter something to him. The Northern lord’s expression hardened to a more serious look before he speaks to his wife, then glanced over towards his sons, mainly Bran who had been watching among the crowd. In then end she seemed to reluctantly agree before Eddard spoke up.

“Everyone…we have a troubling matter that has some to my attention. A Night’s Watch ranger has been caught for desertion. This is a matter that I must deal with personally and immediately.” Staring at his sons, he’d give a small nod. “I want all of your to get your cloaks and horses ready. This is a something you should all witness.” The way Ned spoke was the first stoic show of command Geralt had seen. None of his sons objected as they quickly went about to get ready. Yet as Geralt moved to leave Ned spoke up again. “Not so fast friend. I feel you should come with us.”

“How come? I already have a feeling of what is going to happen.” Geralt questioned back.

“It’s more of what the Ranger has to say. The guards who arrested him mentioned him babbling of… corpses of the dead haunting the woods and a white shade of some kind.” Ned remarked back, yet Geralt sensed a seriousness about him. “Besides the Ranger has been beyond the Wall. He could have some news of recent events…details that can help you.”

At that point Geralt nodded, understanding Ned’s meaning. “I’ll be ready in a few minutes.” With that he was already heading for his room, gathering all his swords and other gear before returning to the courtyard. By then Ned and his sons were already on their horses, while one of the stable hands brought one out for the Witcher. Mounting up, Ned looked over the group before leading the way

 

 

….

They ride through the grassy hills that surrounded Winterfell, passing through a short patch of woods until they arrived at a rocky hilly were a small group of mounted guards and a man in dark leathers and dark furred cloak stood waiting. If anything, the stones set around reminded Geralt of a ritual site.

The Winterfell party arrived at the group and dismounted, Ned taking the lead while his sons hanged back, standing by the edge of the rough stone circle that crowned the hilltop. Eddard nodded for Geralt to follow him while two guards pulled the young man forward, who didn’t resist, only muttering in a low voice. He was slim and dirtied, having traveled far for quite a long while by the looks of it. They’d stop before a flat stone which an arched piece of wood set by it...a headsmen block. The Northern lord was silent as the Night’s Watchman looked at him then at Geralt who he recoiled at for a moment when seeing the pale hair and yellow eyes.

“N-No…not them…you’re not one of them…” The man muttered to Geralt, glancing away to avoid the Witcher’s calm cat like eyes.

Ned remained silent, a sign for Geralt to question the man. “You’re name is Will right, a Ranger of the Night’s Watch? You were scouting beyond the Wall yes?” The Witcher asked in a calm manner.

The ranger just nodded, still tense from Geralt’s appearance. “Yes. Was with two others…a friend and a new member. Weeks ago we had odd reports…a strange storm happening and sightings in the woods. We thought wildlings…” Yet he’d shudder.

“What did you find?” Geralt questioned.

“Bodies. Wildlings. Men, woman and children. They were…cut up in a circle…ritual like. There was a little girl…impaled to a tree.” He’d bite back a sob. “I called my Brothers to see it while they sent me out to scout the area...I heard screams and…and…” By now he was shaking, breathing deeply as he seemed in a panic.

Geralt knew at this rate he’d lose focus, start struggling or being hysterical. His right hand flexed and twist as he’d discretely make the Axii Sign, making a faint soothing color showed in Will’s eyes as he’d give a relaxed sigh. Ned seemed to notice this, giving a curious short look at Geralt who continued to speak.

“What happened next?”

Will took a moment before speaking, his voice more clear now. “I heard the others scream and saw the horses run off. Then I heard a noise and the girl…she was there…dried blood and eyes dead.” He’d pause before shaking his head “No eyes icy blue. She moved and looked at me…I ran.” Again he’d be silent. “Found Gared. He was a good friend and Ranger. Then something big…came up behind him. Cut his head off.”

“What killed him?” Geralt pressed.

“Skin was pale and wrinkled…face gaunt like a corpse…eyes the same piercing blue. It was a White Walker.” He’d look to Geralt and then Ned. “I know I should have gone back to the Wall. Warned my Brothers. I couldn’t…was too scared…too much of a coward.” He’d shake his head. “Yet I know what I saw!”

Geralt was silent, looking between Ned and the Ranger. “Did you see a white haired woman with a scar across one eye?” He’d suddenly ask, drawing a confused look from Will.

“N-No…didn’t see such a woman…even among the bodies.” The Ranger muttered before looking to Ned. “I know what I did was wrong. I accept that I deserted…I broke the oath and accept the price of it.”

At this point Ned nodded and then glanced at Geralt, making the Witcher move away as one of the men moved up with a large fur covered sheathed blade. The size was massive, being a great sword in length. What interested Geralt was how his medallion vibrated lightly with the weapon close, making him watch intently. Ned grasped the large hilt and drew the blade out, the blade metal being a smoky dark color unlike any metal the Witcher had seen. The massive blade was perfectly sharp yet showed no signs sharpening by whetstone.

Ned hefted the blade with ease despite the size, either of hint of his strength or betraying a lightness to the large sword. Soon he’d begin to speak, a long oath about the man’s crime and punishment, all while having a somber yet steadfast look. “Do you have any last words Will?” Ned calmly asked.

“Tell my family. Don’t lie…let them know of my mistake.” He’d bow his head although the guards already pressed him to the block. “Yet believe what I saw my Lord. They exist…”

Ned was silent, hesitant for a long moment in thought. Geralt glanced back to the watching sons, Jon whispering to Bran who stared intently. In the end though, Ned tightened the grip of his sword before with a grunt, he’d lift the blade up and then down, decapitating the Ranger cleanly with one powerful swing. Eddard gave a deep sigh as he watched the head drop down and blood flow from the severed neck. He’d get a rag to wipe the blood off his blade before the guard with the sheath stepped forward to let the blade be slid back in.

“And so, my duty is complete.” Ned muttered before turning to his sons. “Let this be a moment you all remember. Follow the oaths you make and the duties you follow. Understand the responsibilities that you will all one day have to take.”

The Stark sons nodded, Bran hesitant in his before Ned moved back for his horse. Everyone followed, whispering to each other as they’d mount up. Geralt pulled himself onto his horse yet moved beside Eddard to speak privately.

“He wasn’t lying.” He simply stated.

“Do you believe so?” Ned questioned.

“May have been fearful, yet it wasn’t the fear of death it was the memory of what happened. Axii Sign helped ease the truth.” He explained to Ned.

“One of your tricks? I did see the gesture you made.”

“Helped calm him. Be more focused. Point is everything he said was what he truly saw.” Geralt remarked.

“There has to be a logical reason Geralt. The man babbled about a myth.”

“Where I come from, myths often are true to a degree. Besides he mentioned a storm a few weeks ago…close to the same time I arrived.” Geralt argued back.

Ned gripped his reins and looked away from Geralt. “I won’t rush into any decision on the matter.” Eddard guided his horse along, leaving Geralt behind before the Witcher rode out as well. Jon and Robb gave questioning looks as they follow close by yet said nothing as the group headed back for Winterfell.

 

 

…

The group would return home by the main road to return back to Winterfell. Everyone was silent the whole ride, Ned keeping a stern look during the whole time, ignoring Geralt when he rode up close and seemed ready to talk. Yet Ned slow down as he’d see something ahead, making the Witcher focus his gaze forward to see what it was.

“Dead elk. Big one” He simply stated, using his sharp vision to confirm.

The group came to a stop and dismounted, yet Geralt was the first to move close to the dead beast. It was easy for him to tell that the elk had been killed at least half a week ego, considering the decay. “Broken horn…split belly…hide seems to have been bitten and torn into.” He muttered, a usual habit he when investigating. His sharp gaze scanned the road, noting the hoof prints of the elf but then saw very large paw prints. “Wolf…biggest one I’ve ever seen. Size of the elk or even bigger.” By this point the others were looking at the elk, along with overhearing Geralt’s mutterings curiously. The Witcher continued to pace around the area, sharp eyes finding every detail.

“Wolf chase it here, then surprised it. Bite right into the under belly and knocked it over. Started to disembowel yet dropped its guard as elk thrashed about. One set of antlers struck, possibly at the face or neck region.” He’d pace towards the side of the road, nearing a slope by a creek and bridge that crossed over it. Quickly he saw the wolf itself, a massive creature as he suspected. Yet what really got his attention was the small canine forms huddling at the wolf, suckling at its underbelly and giving low whimpers. The bigger wolf was decaying as well, face already having maggots eating away at it.

The group followed, amazed looks at the massive creature while Geralt moved to the wolf pups who scampered around yet didn’t try to escape him. Even for ones so younger they were much larger than normal wolf pups.

“It’s a freak.” Theon suddenly remarked, making Geralt and Ned glance back with an annoyed look, silencing the young man.

“It’s a dire wolf.” Eddard muttered as he’d reach to grab the snapped antler, yanking it out with a sickening sound before tossing it aside. “A rare beast.”

“Had such creatures back home, yet they were hunted to extinction or at least now roam into the harsher wilds to the north.” Geralt remarked.

Robb nodded. “Aye…there are no dire wolves south of the Wall. Makes you wonder how this one got here.”

“Well there is five here now.” Jon remarked as he’d move to pick up one of the pups, the gray furred creature whining cutely before Jon looked to Bran. “Want to hold it?”

Bran nodded as he’d take the pup, wrapping it up in his cloak to warm it and cuddle the soft fur. “Where will they go? Their mother is dead.” The young Stark asked softly.

Geralt could see the Northern men glance aside, hinting at what they were thinking. In the end Ned spoke up quickly. “They won’t last without their mother. It is best to give them a quick death.”

“Right then!” Theon was quick to react, getting his dagger out and grabbing for Bran’s pup, who whined out in fear. Yet Geralt was quick to intervene, a strong arm shoving Theon back. “Cut out it out.” He growled, making the Iron Islander pale slightly. “Thought I taught you some self-control after all these weeks.”

“He’s right Theon, put the bloody knife away.” Robb remarked in agreement, making Theon look about with a torn look.

“Please father!’ Bran pleaded as Ned moved past them for the road, making him pause to look at his son, a mournful look showing in his eyes.

“Lord Stark.” Jon spoke up, making everyone look to him. “There are five pups, one for each of your children. The dire wolf is your house sigil. We were meant to have them.”

Geralt didn’t expect such a formal remark from Jon, since privately he spoke of Ned as just his father. Perhaps the formality was meant to calm and reason with the troubled man. “He makes a good point Lord Eddard.” The Witcher remarked. “Their young enough to be trained and should grow up quickly. Give a month or so they’ll be big as a hound, easier to manage.”

Everyone looked at Ned, he thought for a moment before speaking. “You’ll train them yourselves. Fed them yourselves. And if they die you’ll bury them yourselves.” The last few words had a sternness to them yet Geralt understood the man was putting the gravity of this responsibility to his family.  
Everyone nodded as Ned marched back for the road, while Jon began collecting the pups, handing them off to Robb and Theon to be carried back. Yet Bran paused, looking at Jon before speaking up.  
“What about you?” He asked.

“I’m not a true Stark…just go on now.” The bastard muttered, shooing Bran who’d follow Robb to the road.

Geralt took a moment to walk up to Jon and speak privately with him. “A good thing you’ve done.” He assured the young man, placing a firm hand on his shoulder. “Your family will care and raise them well. They’ll be good protectors for your siblings.”

Jon just nodded, remaining silently as he’d slip by the Witcher, yet stop as he heard some low whines at the nearby tree. The young man crouched to find a white furred pup, the smallest one of the group as he’d pick it up to examine it.

“Looks like the runt of the litter.” Geralt remarked. “Seems you’ll have your own wolf in the end.”

“Guess fate works in strange ways.” Jon chuckled, mood softening as he’d hold the pup closely. He’d give a thankful nod to the Witcher before going to rejoin his family, leaving Geralt to himself.

“Fate…not sure if I should curse it or thank it.” He’d mutter before his sharp ears heard the crack of a twig in the woods. By reaction his hand reached for his steel sword, yet paused in drawing it as he saw the source of the noise. It was another dire wolf, full grown and white furred, even bigger than the slain female. The dire wolf was far enough to not be seen by the others as Geralt stared it down. He noticed how its face was scarred, a claw mark across one side and eye, no doubt from a huge bear by the looks of it. For a long while he stared at the dire wolf, wondering if it attack to reclaim its pups or not. Yet it look away after a long moment and slip away into the woods. Geralt relaxed his grip on his blade, watching the white furred beast disappear among the trees.

“Old white wolf….” He muttered before Robb yelled out from the road.

“What’s matter Geralt?” The Stark questioned out.

Shaking his head, Geralt moved back to the road and for his horse. “Nothing. Thought I saw something in the woods” He answered back before moving his horse forward as the group continued back to Winterfell. Yet riding along he kept thinking about the wolf and that knowing gaze it had.

 

 

…

Later that evening, Geralt decided to see Ned to discuss what Will had shared with him. Everything that the Ranger had said troubled the Witcher along with Ned’s initial denial. He knew something was going on with Ned since he never seen the man so troubled, so stern and serious. The guards would escort the Witcher to Eddard’s study, the man reading over letters and logs before looking to the Witcher and the guards.

“Leave us please.” He muttered to the men, who’d nod and leave the room, closing the door behind them.

“We need to talk about the Ranger Will.” Geralt said, moving up to the heavy wooden desk while Ned read over a letter.

“If you are questioning why he had to be executed it’s because it’s the law. Has been seen the Night’s Watch founding.” Ned calmly stated back.

“I know and respect the laws. The issue is you should have given us more time. Question him more, talk to the Watch or check the area he had been attacked before he was executed.” Geralt argued back.  
At this point Ned looked at Geralt, silent for a long moment. “He has been traveling for weeks. If any clues could be found, they’d long been claimed by the frost and snow.” Shifting up from his seat, he’d stand up now. “And the Watch would only disprove the man’s claim, say it was a desperate excuse about how Wildlings ambushed and killed them.”  
“He didn’t lie. Simple as that.” Geralt remarked back.  
“That’s your word though Geralt, one that you relied on one of your…tricks to get.” Ned muttered back. “Yet what do you expect me to say? Claim that the White Walkers are real and somehow connected to your missing daughter?” He’d shake his head. “I’ll admit I’ve seen signs of change coming. The Night’s Watch is too thin to man the whole Wall. Patrols beyond it are non-existence. Wildlings are slipping in by the dozens as if running from something.” He’d pause, one hand clenched as he’d tap on his desk lightly. “Yet for all we know there could be warring with the tribes up north, some cult or radical group using a myth to spread fear. The Walkers are a legend, a story made thousands of years long past.  
Geralt was silent, admitted Ned’s argument made sense from a point of view. “Then let me go to the Wall. Let me question the men there, examine the Wall or even scout just beyond it. I’ll get the truth and proof.”

“You’ll waste your time. Robert will be here within a few weeks, too long for you to get to Castle Black and back.” Ned answered back. “You won’t have enough talk to speak with the King and if anything, I need you here during his visit.”

“Why, what has changed?” Geralt questioned.

Ned sighed, sliding a letter to Geralt. “The Hand of the King is dead. Raven just came in…dated a month so back.” The Witcher read it over as Eddard continued to speak. “Jon Arryn was a second father to me. When the Mad King demanded me and Robert to be surrendered to him, Arryn defended us and was one of the first to rebel. The man was honorable, wise and decent…yet now he has died under mysterious circumstances.”

“Like you were saying back in the Godswood.” Geralt muttered, making Ned nod.

“The elk and dire wolf at the road shows me your investigating skill. What would take a trained hunter minutes, you deduced it all in seconds.” Ned remarked. “I need you’re wit and skill. There is something at the heart of this country, a real threat that doesn’t hide beyond myths and stories.”

The Witcher grumbled a bit, hating how Ned pressured the matter. “This isn’t my land and Robert isn’t my King.”

Eddard shook his head, glancing down at his desk in thought. “Then what is your price?”

Geralt blinked in confusion. “What?”

“How much gold then? What resources can I trade you? As you’ve told me a Witcher takes contracts, so let me give you one.” Ned explained.

“No.” Geralt stated, making it Eddard’s turn to look confused. “I get your reasons my lord. You’ve made a good case back in the Godswoods and now. Yet the last time I got involved in such matters I ended up framed as an assassin, good people died, and a mass invasion happened in the end.” Pausing, he’d look right at Eddard sternly. “You need to wait, take your time on this matter. If you rush to conclusions you will only cause trouble for your House…and put your life, even your family’s on the line.” With that he’d turn to leave, Ned having that troubled look as the door slammed shut.

 

 

….


	6. Season 1 - Episode 5: Old Wolf and Burned Hound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt continues to explore more of Winterfell and improve his bond with the Stark family. Now the royal family arrives and already he faces a dangerous challenge under the demands on one royal prince.

Chapter 5: Old Wolf and Burned Hound

….

The following two weeks passed by as Geralt continued his usual routine between his reading, sparring against the older Stark sons and his tutoring of Bran. He took this time to distance himself from Eddard, although Lord Stark seemed to be busy with preparations for King Robert’s arrival. He’d also go to the blacksmith and fletcher with the blueprints for one of the more basic crossbows he had on hand with a few additions on his part, making it a personalized weapon for Bran.

Geralt intensified his duels with Jon, Rob and Theon as he pushed them to their limits. None of them had landed a blow on him, yet whenever the three sparred against even the most trained Stark soldiers they easily outmatched them. It was strange training them like this, making him wonder if Vesemir’s training habits had rubbed off onto him. Theon continued to be troublesome ever since he had shoved the Iron Islander during the discovery of the dire wolves. Despite all his skill he still suffered from his overconfidence and arrogance. Still Robb and Jon seemed to balance him out whenever they were all together for training.

He also helped the Stark family with their dire wolves, who were already the size of small dogs in the short time the Stark’s had taken them in. They were eating their weight in meat which explained their constant rapid growth. Mainly he focused on this time to stay around Arya and Sansa, since they didn’t understand how to handle and train such animals. The eldest female Stark had been weary of him, yet he kept a formalness around her that won her over slightly. He guessed she got that from her mother, who while polite always had a judging manner about her. Catelyn had learned about his crossbow and sword practice with Bran, something she didn’t seem pleased with. Maybe she preferred Rodrik in tutoring her son, yet the old master-at-arms had shown no issue on the matter. He knew Catelyn cared for his children, yet she was being overly controlling with them.

…

Late into the week, Geralt had decided to take a break from his usual duties and have some time by himself. He decided to go to the Godswood, having gotten permission despite his last argument with Ned. It was good at least that Eddard wasn’t a vindictive man, since Geralt felt if he had acted in such a way to any ruler back home, he’d be thrown out or tossed in a jail cell…that is if they could force him into one. If anything he wanted to go to the clearing he and Eddard had talked at to examine the Weirwood tree. Finding it, he’d walk closer to the red leafed tree, one hand touched the ancient white bark. Being up close, his medallion did lightly pulse, yet it was very weak.  
“Not much of spark left in you.” He muttered as he’d look at the carved face on the tree, which had a peaceful if otherworldly look to it. “Reminds me of a source of power.” At this point he’d move to clear the spot before the tree before shifting down onto his knees, taking the meditative poise before it. He wasn’t sure if he could tap into whatever power the tree had, yet at the least the surroundings would be relaxing for meditation. Closing his eyes, he’d take a deep breath and exhale as he focused, slowing his heartbeat and opening his senses to his surroundings. Yet he tapped into a sixth sense that most magical inclined beings had, even though his magical skill was very basic. He could sense it…a faint shiver of power about the tree. It was old and so distant, a great power that was being deeply suppressed. He’d try to tap into it like other sources, yet reaching for it stretch his willpower further and further. It was hard to keep focus, making his body tense during meditation.

“Geralt?” A soft voice spoke, making the Witcher snap out of his trance. He was panting, realizing he had gotten lost in his meditation. Hours had passed by the looks of it, yet his attention focused on the voice. 

It was Arya who looked at him with a concerned look, seeing hint of surprise in the Witcher’s eyes. Beside her was her direwolf Nymeria, who gave a curious glance at Geralt. “Are you alright you seem shaken?” Arya remarked while Geralt moved to stand up, brushing the dirt off his knees. 

“Was meditating.” He simply said.

“Is that some Witcher trick?” Arya asked curiously while her direwolf moved up close, sniffing at Geralt before nuzzling at his leg. The Witcher couldn’t help but rub the canine’s head, scratching behind her ears.

“Sort of. It’s a bit complicated to explain.” He answered back, making the girl give a shrug. “So why are you out here? Taking Nymeria for a walk?”

“Heh, can’t exactly go beyond the walls.” Arya chuckled as she’d pick up a stone, lightly skipping it along the tranquil pond. “I like coming here often. The Godswood is so much like the stories I read or the ones you share.”

Geralt paused as he look around the beautiful forest, nodding in agreement. “It does. Reminds me a bit of a Toussaint woodland, just with a more northerner touch to it.” He explained.

“Is that another one of your land’s kingdoms?” Arya asked, making Geralt nod. 

“Said to be one of the happiest places in the Nilfgaard Empire. I visited there a long time ago for work and it felt like a land out of a fairytale.” He described.

By this point Arya sat on a large smooth rock and had Nymeria tugged close as she’d listened intently. “I do have some questions about what you do as a Witcher. I want to know more about the stuff you hunted!”

“Guess I’ve shared the most basic tales I have…alright then ask.” He’d answer back.

“So…are there good monsters in your world?” Arya asked. “I mean the tales say the Children were kindly before disappearing after all.”

Geralt nodded. “Most of the creatures I’ve told you are little more than mindless or primal, yet there are plenty that are sentient and act just like you and me.” He explained. “Trolls while low witted and primitive are social enough to pick up conversation or share riddles. Often though the price for losing is being part of their stew.

“Bleck...doesn’t sound like the friendliest types to me.” Arya muttered. 

“Every creature is different, even the most monstrous ones can be unique. Some are just innocent beings who want to live peaceful among humans.” He’d think for a moment. “Dopplers are one type creature that are kind hearted in nature. Their shapeshifters who can look like us yet overall just want to blend in. Few times I ever had to fight one, it was often on a misunderstanding and they were quick to apologize. One of them that I did encounter became good friend, a sly merchant and actor named Dudu.”

The name had Arya giggling, enough for even Geralt to crack a smile. “Quite the odd name.” She chuckled.

“That’s because he normally took the form of a Halfling, sort of a half sized human with hairy feet.” Geralt explained.

“You mean like the Imp?” The young Stark remarked. “I heard the Lannister’s have a family member who half the size of a man, has a pig’s tail and a head twice as big as mine...with horns on top!”

Geralt did remember hearing stories about the Lannister family. He taken some time to read about the current family members. From his understanding the ‘Imp’ as Arya called him was Tyrion, the youngest son of Tywin.

“Doubtful. No doubt was born with dwarfism.” Geralt simply stated, making Arya give a confused look at the term. “It a special and rare condition people can be born with that makes them shorter and have abnormal limbs at times. No pig tails or devil horns included.”

Arya grumbled at his answer, expecting something more thrilling from the monster hunter. “I think rumors sound more exciting.” She muttered before realizing they were shifting off topic. “Alright…can you think of the scariest monster you’ve ever faced?”

“Scariest…huh…hard to say.” He muttered. “Well I can say there are at least two creatures Witchers are never meant to fight. Dragons and High Vampires.”

“Wait you have dragons where you come from!?” Arya remarked in an excited manner. “I thought they were all dead…well I mean they are here in Westeros and Essos from what I’ve heard.”

“Sort of. The weaker breeds were hunted down over the ages, yet the more exotic ones have simply vanished. No doubt moved to other lands to avoid annoying humans following rumors of them guarding piles of treasure.” Geralt explained. “From what your books say the dragons here grew as big as the rarest types back home and seem more instinct driven…although tamable.” Yet looking at Arya she seemed bored with his examination, making him realize he babbling now. “Sorry…habit.” He muttered, making Arya smirk at his apology.

“Anyway you still haven’t told me what monster scared you the most.” Arya questioned.

Geralt paused as he thought over on how to answer. “Can’t think of anything that scared me before…yet the most dangerous I can think of were a trio of monsters, the Ladies of the Wood. Ancient witches who had created their own domain over neighboring villages of a swamp.”

“Witches? You mean three old woman with warts got you nervous?” Arya chuckled, yet when she saw Geralt dead serious stare, she’d be quickly silent. That look even make Nymeria give a small whine.

“They were no joke. These weren’t a bunch of old ladies raising toads and chackling over a caldron. They were creatures that had plagued the world when it was young.” Geralt warned in a calm yet serious manner. He’d continue to detail their dark powers and horrible acts such as enslaving the villagers of the surrounding area under their ‘protection’ in exchange for their young and being worshipped. Arya held Nymeria closely during the story, especially hearing the part about the grim fate of the children the hags kept. Yet he’d end the story sharing how two of the crones were slain, yet the last sister Weavess having escaped the battle against Ciri.

“S-So what about the last one? I mean she’s still out there.” Arya muttered nervously.

“Well she can hurt you or anyone. She’s pretty much…well…a world away.” Geralt remarked. “Besides, after I find Ciri and we return home, we’re going to hunt her down. Make sure she can’t hurt and torment anyone else.” His serious tone showed how he meant it, making Arya relax slightly.

“I can’t imagine anything worse than those…things.” Arya remarked.

“True. Crones are by far one of the foulest beings I’ve seen.” However he pause, thinking over the long journey he had searching for Ciri and following the Witcher’s Way. “Yet…despite all the beasts and monsters I’ve seen there is one race that does the worst to others and itself.” 

Arya looked confused yet curious at what he was meaning. “What do you mean?”

The girl’s innocent look made him hesitate though, unsure he should tell her the truth. For him, despite all the horrible creatures he had fast in his long life, humanity always seemed to be far more violent, cruel and destructive. Yet she hadn’t seen that, at least for now. She was still too young and isolated from the harshness of the world…a reason why he felt Eddard’s plans to investigate the late Hand of the King was a risky move.

“Never mind…just an old Witcher with too much on his mind.” He muttered back, although Arya seemed dead set to know.

“Come on, no excuses! Just the way you looked was serious. I know what you were about to say was important!’ She argued back.

Geralt gave a small sigh, since Arya really was acting like Ciri when she was young, always questioning and challenging. “How about this, I’ll tell you when I come back with Ciri. Right now you’ve had enough horror stories for once.” With that said, he’d get up and stretch a bit before moving towards the edge of the clearing. “Anyway we should head back. Sun is getting low and I’d rather not have your mother worrying about you.”

Arya seemed disappointed she wouldn’t learn what Geralt was going to tell her yet nodded as she’d let go of Nymeria to follow him while the dire wolf chased after them back to the main yard of hold.

…

A two more days past as the usual routine continued for Geralt. He had just finished a long sparring lesson with Robb, Jon and Theon who had all become honed fighters under his tough training. It was impressive how well they had learned in just under two months yet Jon and Robb were evenly matched by the end. Already the group were packing away the training swords and getting mugs of water, relaxing since it was a cool yet sunny day.

“I think this will be the last day of training for us.” Geralt suddenly remarked, making the three young men give surprised looks.

“That’s it? Run out of things to teach us?” Theon questioned.

“At least within your limits.” The Witcher remarked back, making Theon give an annoyed look while Robb and Jon chuckled at his expression. “Point is you all have your own fighting styles, things that you or I can’t simply change. All I can say is one final piece of advice.”

All three nodded, listening intently to what Geralt had to say.

“In a real fight, don’t fight fair.” He simply stated, making the three give confused looks and glance at each other. 

“Not exactly the most honor piece of knowledge you’ve shared with us Geralt.” Robb remarked, being respectful despite what the Witcher had said. “Father has always put honor before all else even in battle.”

“In a duel, yah I can understand that. Yet what if one day you’re facing down an assassin or against just a common soldier? Honor won’t matter to them, only winning since it means life or death.” He simply explained. “Honor will be worthless if your opponent doesn’t give a damn about it. I’ve seen enough decent men die because of it and I’d rather not see any of you make the same mistake.”

The three were silent, thoughtful over the matter yet troubled. After all it was against what Ned had taught them. However, Geralt moved up and firmly patted them all on the shoulders to snap them back to attention. 

“Overall remember what I taught you and you’ll get far in life.” However, before he or any of the others could say more, they heard Catelyn speak out, making everyone look towards the main wall.

They saw Bran climbed agilely down the side of the nearby tower while his mother and Maester Luwin stood by. From the noble woman’s expression, she wasn’t pleased with the boy’s climb. From what Geralt knew from chatting with the boy, he often did this much to his mother’s annoyance. Geralt and the others moved closer as Bran seemed excited about something while dropping down onto the nearby roof then climbing down the vines to the ground.

“But he’s coming right now!” Bran explained while his mother walked up, leaning forward to look the boy in the eyes.

“I want you to promise me. No. More. Climbing.” She asked, making the boy look down for a moment then back at her.

“I promise.” He said, keeping a straight face when he spoke.

Catelyn gave a sigh, her expression softened as she’d give a small smile at her son. “You know what?”

Bran gave a confused look, head tilting slightly. “What?”

“You always look down at your feet when you lie.” She coyly stated, making Bran give a big smile back, not seeming guilty about it.

“Ran along to your father. Tell him the King is close.” She’d quickly order, making the boy nod and hurry off for the Great Keep.

At this point Geralt and the other approached her and Luwin, the Maester giving a small bow to the group. The Witcher gave a small nod back before looking to Catelyn, her gaze stern when focused onto him. 

“The boy can climb quite well you know.” He remarked calmly.

“Even so, it’s not a safe thing for him to do.” The woman remarked back. “He’s young after all and shouldn’t be putting himself at risk like that.”

“Yet he won’t be a boy forever.” Geralt argued back. “He’s a smart and fit lad. I trust that he can handle himself.”

“Then we’ll agree to disagree Master Witcher.” Catelyn muttered before giving a small sigh. “Family aside though, we all should get ready.” Looking to Robb and Theon, she’d move off to the Great Keep to prepare, leaving the three to themselves.

“Heh…if Yen were here…” Geralt muttered, wondering what the grand sorceress would do to such a frustrating woman like Catelyn. No doubt debate on changing her into some small animal or use bothersome spell.

“Mother has a point. Have to look our best for King Robert.” Robb remarked, making Theon nod in agreement. “Anyway Geralt, we’ll met you back in the yard later.” With that he and the Iron Islander left, leaving the Witcher with just Jon. Looking at the young man, he could see the side long look he had. Catelyn had once again shown her discord for him, not even acknowledged him, not by name or even looking to him.

“Look…” Geralt put a steady hand on Jon’s shoulder, making the young man look to him. “You’re as much as a Stark as Robb and Bran. She may not see it but everyone else does. Ned does too, yet tradition forces him otherwise.”

“I know that. Doesn’t make it any easier knowing though.” Jon muttered.

“Then don’t cower or be silent. Speak up instead. If there are consequences then face them, yet show everyone that you are as steadfast as father and brothers.” He’d shift away, moving for the Guest House. “Anyway, clean yourself up and get your best cloak. May be your last chance to meet the King after all.” 

Jon smirked at the last remark before Geralt moved for the Guest House while he headed off to the Great Keep. Geralt knew the young man needed some motivation since today was meant to be an exciting occasion. Arriving to his room, Geralt quickly changed into fresh clothes yet also into a custom made northern outfit, similar to what the house hold members but with his own personal touch to the design. Strapping his swords to his back, he’d get his white hair fixed up before heading outside once more. Just checking out from one window, he could see the entire guard and soldier force were out for the King’s arrival, the men lining up before the main gate and through the court yard. 

Already the Stark family, their servants and trusted house hold were lining up. Everyone was dressed in the norths finest, with the all the Starks wearing lavish fur cloaks. The men were in there best leathers and the women fair colorful dresses. Ned was at the front with his wife and children all lined up, although Jon was set just behind Robb. Eddard gave a small nod to Geralt as he approached. “Good timing. Your spot is beside Jon in the second line.” Pausing, he’d give curious look at Geralt as if realizing something. “I take you know how to act properly around a King yes?”

“I’ve had my fair share, so no need to worry. Don’t plan to insult the man if that is what you’re worried.” Geralt reassured him. “Just don’t expect me to do any fancy bows or kiss any oversized rings.”

Ned couldn’t help but chuckle at the last remark. “Heh last I checked Robert was not one for such formalities, so I doubt it will come to that.”

Geralt smirked before moving to his spot, nodding to Jon as he’d stand beside him. For a long while the group stood around being silent as the nearing stamper of the royal caravan neared the gates. Yet as Geralt looked over the gathered group, he quickly realized Arya was missing. Before he could point it out though, the young girl revealed herself as she hurried up to the front row with a guard’s dome helm on. Ned was quick to stop her before taking the helm and handing it off to Sir Rodrik who’d fiddle with the piece of armor before hiding it under his cloak. Arya meanwhile moved to her spot, playfully pushing Bran to get some space.

Geralt shook his head, yet quickly stood to attention as at last the caravan arrived. The first to ride in were ornately armored knights of the King’s Guard, the honor guard of the royal family, proclaimed elite warriors of the continent. Riding close behind was a dashing teenager, who Geralt assumed was one of the Lannister children considering his fine short cut blond hair, no doubt Joffrey considering his age. Riding in, his gaze was quickly set to Sansa, a small charming smile on his lips which had the northern girl smile back in a friendly manner. He did remember Sansa talking about him, acting like a Toussaint maiden dreaming of marrying a prince. Considering how she acted, no one took her seriously on the matter.

Behind the prince was a tall and muscular man dressed in black plate and a unique hound helmet. Geralt heard this one was Sandor Clegane, Joffrey’s bodyguard and the Lannister’s enforcer. His fierce and disorderly nature yet set loyalty to the family gained him the nickname ‘The Hound’. The man stop beside the prince before lifting his helmet visor put, showing a gruff scarred face, which Geralt could tell was quite old and caused by fire. Made the man quite intimidating though.

Next came a lavish wooden and iron bound carriage, fitting for one of high royalty back home. No doubt meant for comfortable riding out on the road. Following behind it were another group of King’s Guard and a large bearded man in a large dark regal cloak. At a glance Geralt thought he had just found the Red Baron’s older brother considering how the looks were quite similar. However he’d realize everyone was quickly dropping to one knee towards there King. He’d do the same, yet his head wasn’t completely low so he could just see what was going on. Royal pages hurried out with a wooden step for Robert to dismount with ease before the man quickly moved right towards Ned. Eddard look up as his old friend stood before him, remanding silent as the king gestured for him to stand. In doing so, everyone stood up and looked intensively at what was going to happen.

There was a tense silence before Eddard at last spoke. “Your grace.”

Robert didn’t answer for a moment, looking at the Northern Lord over before at last speaking in a gruff voice. “You’ve gotten fat.”

Everyone in the group gave a mix of looks, unsure of how to react although Rodrik couldn’t help but give an amused smirk. Geralt already was debating if that dimensional relation theory was true and he was just meeting this world’s Red Baron now. Eddard though gave an odd look to his king, yet the way he looked him over seemed to be a silent ‘look who’s talking’.   
Robert caught onto the jesting look as he give a deep laugh, making Eddard do the same before the two gave a strong hug to each other. Chuckling, Robert looked to Catelyn before hugging her and then moving back to Ned.

“Gods it’s been over ten years. Where the hell have you been?” He’d remark.

“Guarding the North for you, your grace. Winterfell is yours after all.” Ned answered back, being formal despite Robert’s casual manners.

Geralt continued to overhear their conversation while looking to the carriage, seeing a beautiful golden haired woman who had the finest dress and furred cloak out of the gathered group. No doubt this was Robert’s wife, Cersei Lannister, who many proclaimed was the most beautiful woman of all of Westeros. Considering her alluring looks, he could see she had such a title.

“Where’s the Imp?” Arya whispered as she glanced around slightly, making Sansa tug her in place.

“Shut up!” She hissed at her younger sister.

Meanwhile Robert moved to go met the Stark children as he’d shake hands with Robb, eyeing Sansa then having a short chat with Arya and Bran. However, moving along back towards Ned, the King paused as he’d see Geralt now.

“You there. Step forward.” He said in a commanding manner.

Geralt paused for a moment before stepping up, Robb giving him space to be before the king. Robert looked Geralt over, eyes having a sharp warrior’s look to it as he was sizing up the white haired man. “When I read the letter that some white hair stranger was found in the woods, I found some Targaryan straggler had crawled out of hiding.” The man sternly remarked. Yet locking gazes with Geralt, he’d give hint of surprise seeing those piercing yellow cat like eyes. “Ugh…then again you seem to be something different.”

“Let me guess, far too ugly to be a Targaryan?” Geralt remarked back, arms crossed. “Seems to the answer I usually get.”

Everyone was silent, yet in the end Robert laughed out and grinned, patting Geralt roughly on the shoulder. “Ah I like you already! Ned’s letter spoke highly of you and I can see why. ” Nodding, he’d step back and look to Ned. “We’ll have to talk later. Right now I have important matters to tend to. Take me to your crypt, I want to pay my respects.”

Cersei meanwhile approached the group, Ned greeting her and kissing her hand before the fair Lannister spoke up. “We’ve been riding for over a month my love, surely the dead can wait.” 

Robert looked at her for a moment, yet shifted back to Ned who he gave a nod. “Ned.” Already the King was off, heading for the crypt entrance. Eddard looked at Cersei for a moment before following his old friend, leaving the group by themselves.

Cersei seemed annoyed about the matter as she moved back towards her carriage and to one of the King’s Guard who had removed his helmet. Considering his handsome looks and similar golden hair, Geralt guessed this one was Jamie Lannister, twin brother of the queen. The two seemed to have a short conversation, which his sharp ears could only pick out a few words such as ‘finding that little beast’. Jamie seemed to give a small sigh and nod before marching off towards the village that made up the outer area of Winterfell. 

At this point the group split up as the royal caravan moved to unpack supplies and belongings, while the Stark men helped. As for the Stark family members, they were quick to go introduce themselves to the rest of the royal family. Geralt looked to Jon, who gave a shrug.

“The King is…an interesting man for sure.” The young man muttered.

“Quite the blunt one really. Still better than the high and mighty types I’ve met.” Geralt remarked back. “Guess we won’t have much to do until the feast.”

“Ah right…the feast. I may not be around for that.” Already the two stepped aside to look over the caravan, keeping out of the way for the workers.

“Let me guess. Be rude to have a bastard among royalty.” Geralt remarked, making Jon nod silently. “Lady Stark’s suggestion no doubt. Well you may not be able to share the high table but doesn’t mean you can sit with the common household.”

“Heh…not worried that may be frown upon?” Jon questioned.

“If Lady Catelyn has an issue, she can argue it with me. Anyway I need to take care of a few things before the feast. No excuses, I expect you there.” With that, he’d head for the main court yard where the different knights and other mounted travelers moved to store their horses. While he was going for the Guest House to wait out for the evening, a young male voice spoke out.

“White haired one, I’d like to speak to you.”

Looking over, Geralt realized that it was Prince Joffery who spoke to him. The prince approached with the Hound following close behind, his unique helmet under one arm. With it off his scarred face was more exposed, showing just how disfiguring the burn scars were. 

“Your grace. What is it you want?” Geralt asked, in a formal if blunt manner.

“Just curious to meet the man who slayed a dozen Wildlings. When we got the raven, the whole caravan was gossiping about the white-haired stranger with two swords.” The boy looked over Geralt, seeing the scars and nodding. “Sure have the look of a killer about you.” A short pause followed. “So, what is your name anyway?”

“Geralt of Rivia. As for why I killed them, it was in self-defense. Didn’t know or care who they were at the moment.” The Witcher calmly stated. 

“Heh…seems like an excuse to me. Their savages after all and deserved to be cut down.” Joffery looked to the Hound now as he continued to speak. “Ever fight a Wildling before? Heard you could gut one and they’d keep fighting.”

“Can’t say I know sire. Everyone else normally drops at that point.” The gruff man muttered.

Joffrey looked back at Geralt, a sly yet cruel hint in those eyes. “So, Hound. What do you take of Geralt here? Think you could best him?”

Sandor and Geralt looked at each other, both already sizing up each other. “Can’t say for sure until I see what he can do. Considering the scars, I’d say he’s seen his share of battles.”

Joffrey thought for a moment, pacing slightly between the two men. “Hmm…it will be a while until the feast. It will be dull having to wait.” A smile creeped across his lips before looking to the nearby sparring ring. “A fight then! That be an interesting show for everyone right?” 

The nearby servants and guards would pause at their work, muttering in curious interest. Already Geralt had a bad feeling about this. This young prince had an eagerness about seeing a fight.

“Not sure if it be wise to do so.” Geralt started before the prince spoke up.

“It wouldn’t be wise to refuse me Geralt.” The boy remarked sharply. “The road has been boring and a duel be thrilling to see.” Already Joffrey nodded to Sandor to follow him to the ring, along with some of the servants and guards gathering up to watch.

Geralt sighed as he’d follow along, already fiddling with his strapped blades on his back. However, once again Joffrey spoke up.

“No need for that Geralt. I thought real men duel with real blades, not blunt pieces of iron.” The prince remarked with a smug look. 

“Of course…” The Witcher muttered as the Hound set his helmet back onto his head before drawing his quite larger sword from its sheath. Geralt drew his steel blade as well before pacing into the sparring circle, staring down the armored man.

“Try to make this entertaining.” The Hound gruffly muttered before closing his helmet. “If anything, I can do with a little challenge.” The large man’s stance shifted as he grasped his sword with both hands, a very aggressive poise.

Geralt kept silent, as he’d shift his blade to that low angle, yet gripped it with both hands. He felt the Hound have much more power behind his attacks and require more effort to guard against. For a long moment the two stared down each other, no doubt waiting for the other to make their first move. Everyone was silent, yet Joffrey was quickly getting annoyed from the lack of action.

Yet just as the prince was about to speak, the Hound gave a fierce yell and charged Geralt, moving shockingly fast for a man his size. Lucky Geralt wasn’t a normal man as his honed reflexes kicked in, as his sword moved up to block the powerful overhead blow, giving a low grunt from the effort. Both pulled their weapons back, feet shifting as they moved to circle each other before Geralt lunged in for a stab. Sandor twisted his blade to block the attack, yet had one hand let go of his blade to lash out with an armored backhand attack. Geralt was fast enough to turn his head, the iron fist just grazing the left side of his face. If that had connected, he was certain he would have a broken jaw and a few teeth loosened, mutant durability or not.

Yet the Witcher also took advantage of the close quarters as he’d jab his left fist right into Sandor’s side, targeting the less armored section at the hip. While he couldn’t see the Hound’s face under his helmet, the shocked and pained grunt showed the blow hurt, considering the surprising strength Geralt had behind that punch. The man staggered back, left hand gripping the spot while Geralt winced as he flexed his hand, bloodied slightly from hitting the tough armor. However he recovered faster as he’d grasp his blade two-handed once more, stepping up as he raised his steel sword overhead. Sandor got his second wind, only giving himself enough time to brace his blade for the powerful strike Geralt dealt. 

For the Hound, he could tell Geralt was strong, yet the force of that blow had even the tall man be forced a step back. The Witcher kept up the attack, swinging upward and then down again, keeping up a flow of quick powerful attacks, forcing Sandor on the defensive. The loud clang of metal was constant in the yard, almost over whelming the cheering of the gathered crowd. Joffrey was quite active, yelling out orders to the Hound and encouraging him on. 

“Damn it, hit him back!” The prince called out, making the Hound growl out as the tension of battle and the boy’s ordering frustrated him. 

In the end he did hit back, yet with a strong kick right to Geralt’s gut instead of a sword strike. With his defenses low, the strike was dead on, knocking the wind out of Geralt. The force of the kick even pushing him down onto one knee, the Witcher having to brace one hand to the ground to avoid falling over. Coughing and panting, he’d look up as the Hound roared before he’d strike down, his eyes having a pure look of bloodlust in them. Geralt pulled his sword up, one hand bracing under his blade to hold back the heavy blow.

“Bloody…stubborn bastard!” The Hound growled as he’d keep striking down at Geralt with constant blows, not giving Geralt a chance to get up from his kneeling stance. Even worse, the man mixed in short kicks right at the Witcher, trying to break his guard or knock him over even if it was a cheap tactic for a duel. He had to turn his shoulder just to have those armored kicks avoid hitting his face, not wanting to be dazed because of a broken nose. At this point people were muttering as Geralt grunted and growled in pain, yet refused to yield while Joffrey seemed pleased at the sight. “If I have to beat you senseless to finish this I will!” Sandor snapped out.

At this point Geralt’s anger surged up as he gripped his sword hilt tightly. Those yellow eyes had a fierce look to them as Sandor readied for a final blow with his blade. With adrenaline pumping through him, he’d ignore the pain and push his reflexes to more supernatural limits. With only one hand grasping his sword, he’d swing out just as Sandor’s brought his blade down at him. For Geralt everything was in slow motion yet for the crowd and the Hound it was lightning fast. Despite the raw strength behind that attack, the Hound’s blade was parried with a resounding clang, forcing the towering man to break his stance. Geralt sprung up to his feet before pressing his left hand right against Sandor’s chest before making the Aard sign.

It was a stupid move to use a Sign with so many people around, yet raw combat instinct just pushed Geralt on. Yet it seemed the world’s waning magic was a blessing at this moment as the telekinetic push was unleashed yet it did little more than knock Sandor roughly to the ground. At that point Geralt realized his hasty mistake as he’d look at the Hound, who groaned from the rough fall and struggling to get up because of his armor. He knew if he had put such focus into a Sign like that he would have had the man smashed into the nearby wall and half the gathered crowd knocked to the ground. Probably even crush Sandor’s ribcage with the Sign being point blank as well.

“Aghh…what…what the hell was that?!” Sandor gasped as he’d stagger up, fumbling to get his visor up as a look of shocked confusion showed on his face. 

Indeed, the crowd was just as confused at what had just happened. 

“It was so sudden.” 

“Was there some kind of flash?” 

“No that was a trick of the light from the swords!”

The Witcher realized he had to make an excuse fast. “Nothing…I just shoved you.” Geralt muttered, as he’d catch his breath before sheathing his blade while the crowd cheered at the fierce duel concluding. 

“No fucking way!” The Hound growled as he stomped forward, making Geralt tense up. “You hardly tensed up. Didn’t even pull your arm back! No one is that strong…well…maybe him...” 

Geralt remained silent, eyes narrowing in frustration towards the gruff man, curious at who ‘him’ was. “Maybe you just tripped. Everything happened quite fast after all.” 

Before the Hound could argue any further, Joffrey spoke up to get their attention. “Done already? I thought there be more…after all you two seemed to be at each other’s throats.”

Geralt didn’t answer back, only giving a sharp look to the prince who flinch at the cold glare. Sandor seemed to snap out of his angry state, realizing the Witcher was moments from snapping back at the young royal. “Decided it’s a draw. Besides rather not bloody ourselves before the feast.” He explained to Joffrey. 

“Heh…be improper to have you two prancing around cut up and bleeding everywhere.” Pausing the prince gave a small grin as an idea came to mind. “Then Geralt and you should fight again, yet this time at the upcoming tournament! That would be a spectacular scene for all the people to see right?” The gathered crowd would mutter and nod in agreement. “Maybe have your brother join the fray to make things more exciting.”

The mention of the Hound’s sibling drew an angry look from the man, yet he did well to hide it from the royal prince. This time it was Geralt’s turn to intervene. “You make a good point Joffrey. If your father allows it I’ll take part in a match during the event.” He quickly answered back.

“Good. At least now I have something to look forward in the coming months.” The prince, looked between the two men before nodding. “You’re dismissed Geralt. Hound, consider yourself free for the rest of the day and night. I don’t need you breathing down my neck during the feast.”

At this point Sandor had calmed himself as he’d give a sigh and small nod. “Thank you sire…” He grumbled, obviously bothered by the boy’s suggestions about the tournament. 

With that, Joffrey turned to his servants as he gave some quick orders for them to get back to work and hurried off to check through his belongings. 

Geralt and Sandor looked at each other, both still catching their breath after that violent duel left them both tense. “Guess your reputation of being dishonorable is true. You fucking kicked me while I was down.” Geralt muttered under his breath. “

“Well you bloody cheated with that…hand gesture thing.” The Hound growled back clenching one fist as if ready to strike at the Witcher. “But you know what. Cheat or not you gave me a challenge for once and got the brat off my back. I’m thankful for that at least.” His hand dropped, and he’d step away from Geralt to tug his helmet off, getting his unkept hair all over his scarred sweaty face. “So for now we’re even.” Moving aside, he’d get a flask from his pack and gulp it down, no doubt booze to numb the pain he felt. “Anyway off with you. Like to enjoy some damn peace and quiet while I can.”

Geralt rubbed his bruised shoulder, nodding in agreement. “Enjoy your evening then Sandor.” He’d move to leave the sparring circle yet did notice the man look to him with a confused look, not being expected to be called his true name. 

Once inside the Guest House, Geralt gave a low groan as the pain kicked in after that fight. “Hate having to hold back.” He muttered, yet he did think over how his Sign had reacted. It was far weaker than before, even more then the time he had lost his memory. At this rate he felt Signs wouldn’t be reliable at this rate even if the situation was dire. Moving up to his room, Geralt moved for his potion bag and got a small sample of Swallow out. While he could heal quickly naturally, he didn’t want to go through the evening sore and bruised. Taking a sip of the blue mixture, he’d take a deep breath as the potent liquid eased the pain rapidly. With the soreness easing away, he’d take some time to clean himself off from the duel, washing off the sweat and dirty with a wet rag before changing into fresh clothes. By the time he was changed, his shoulder could flex fine and his fingers no longer cracked from the slightly movement.

For now, he’d take some time to rest, sitting at his desk to read over another book to quickly pass the time until the nightfall came.

….


	7. Season 1 - Episode 6: The King's Feast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt at least meets famous King Robert, hoping to negotiate aid in finding Ciri. However, he finds new friends and rivals, people who's fates will forever change from simply meeting him.

Chapter Six: The King’s Feast

….

When nighttime arrived, Geralt ventured out from his room as he’d heard laughter and music filling the air outside. Already the guests and people of Winterfell were heading for the Great Hall where the feast was being held. As he moved across the yard, Geralt noticed Jon who was off by the stables chatting with a man dressed in black leathers and cloak. The two seemed to be in a heated discussion, yet it soon ended as the man patted Jon on the shoulder before heading towards the feast hall.

Geralt decided to check up on Jon, hurrying over to him before noticing a very short figure step out from the shadows and also approach the Stark bastard. Nearing the two, he’d just hear a few words between the two.

“Your uncle’s in the Night’s Watch?” The figure said in a well-spoken manner.

“What are you doing back there?” Jon countered back, on guard at first before the figure revealed himself to be a dwarf of a man, dressed in fine leather clothes and waving a flask in one hand. Despite his oversized head, he had a handsome quality about his looks and his head had the recognizable golden color of a Lannister about it even in the low lighting.

“Preparing for the night with your family.” The short man simply remarked, pacing over to a nearby fence post to lean up against before sipping his drink. “I’ve always wanted to see The Wall.” He started, keeping a casual demeanor while Jon kept a questioning look and was ready to speak again before noticing Geralt. The dwarf glanced at the Witcher, a curious look showing in his blue eyes as he got to see the man’s white hair, pale scarred face and sharp cat like eyes. “Well now. The Wildling slayer himself, Geralt I believe yes?” He asked.

The Witcher nodded as he’d move to stand by Jon. “You’d be right. I take you’re Tyrion Lannister, the lecherous ‘imp’ I’ve heard so much of.” He remarked back. “Have to say…Arya was way off on your appearance. Missing the tail and horns.”

The Lannister chuckled, shrugging at the remark. “Sadly I left my costume at Casterly Rock. Normally I bring it to such occasions just to embarrass my sister. Those days though are long past.” He sarcastic answered. “Jokes aside, I didn’t expect to meet you so soon. I thought you’d be sleeping the night away after your duel with the Hound.”

At that point Jon looked to Geralt with a surprised look. “Wait, you battled against THE Hound?” He remarked. “Heard the man is a beast in battle and doesn’t hesitate to fight dirty.

“Pretty much right. Kicked the shit out of me at one point. Anyway I’m fine, a little wine and rest got me through.” Geralt reassured the two. 

“So I take you two are going to the feast? Perhaps I may join with you. After all we’d make the quite the show among the tables. The dwarf, the bastard and cat eyed warrior.”

Jon seemed annoyed with being titled as ‘the bastard’ yet Tyrion was quick to raise one hand up. “Sorry I meant no offense with that.”

In the end Jon sighed and nodded. “None taken. Still I’m not sure I’ll-”

“He will be going.” Geralt interrupted, placing a firm hand on Jon’s shoulder. “Bastard or not, he’s a Stark and has a place there, even if it’s at the lowest table.”

Jon was silent, for the moment while Tyrion chuckled a bit as he moved towards the two. “Ah a man who understand the truth of life! He has a point Snow, don’t feel shame for being a bastard, never forget about who you are. The world wouldn’t forget. Wear it like armor and no one will be able hurt you with it!” Taking another sip from his flask, he’d shake it and shrug. “So then shall we go crash a feast?” Already the small man was off towards the feast hall while Jon and Geralt had a last moment.

“I know I promised but…” Jon started while Geralt pushed him lightly along towards the feast. 

“What did I say about excuses?” Geralt remarked back. “Look if I could tangle with Westeros’s most feared warrior, you can survive one night at your own family’s feast.”

Jon chuckled and shook his head. “Stubborn old man.” The remark got a friendly jab to the side from the Witcher. “Fine then. Guess facing one’s fears is good for oneself.”

Soon the two caught up with Tyrion at the Great Hall doors, the guards opening them for the group. The place was completely different to the dinners Geralt had enjoyed over the last few months as every table was packed with people. Music, cheerful laughter and chatter filled the hall as the party was in full swing.

Eddard was not at the head table but off to the side talking with the man Jon had been talking to, which Geralt deduced was Ned’s brother Benjen, First Ranger of the Watch. Already the Witcher wondered what the two were chatting over, no doubt the story the deserter Ranger had given, Jon’s interest in joining the Watch and Geralt’s interest searching beyond the Wall. For now, he left them be, deciding he’d try talking with either man later tomorrow.

“Geralt! You crazy bastard! Up after dancing with the Hound!” The familiar voice of Graffin spoke out to the Witcher. The trio moved towards the guard’s table where the man’s group of friends sat about over roasted boar and mugs of ale. “I knew you were made of tough stuff, yet to survive the Hound is a rare thing.” By then, Graffin noticed Jon and Tyrion, staring a bit at the dwarf. “Hey, you’re that Lannister fellow.”

“Tyrion at your service.” The dwarf introduced with a jesting bow before hoping up onto one bench seat and already getting a plate of meat for himself. “Geralt here has been kind enough to invite me along, so I hope you have no issue.”

“Heh…never thought I’d be sharing a table with the Imp. Ah hells with it, no issue with it.” He’d nod for Jon and Geralt to get a seat while his companions got plates cut meat passed over to the pair. “Good to see you with us Jon.”

The Stark nodded, giving a small yet welcomed smile back as he’d cut into his plate of boar. “Thank Geralt for bringing me along. Thought he’d drag me here back at the yard.”

“A little force can be quite convincing.” Geralt chuckled before Jon gave a short elbow jab to the Witcher in annoyance.

“Blunt yet wise words friend!” Graffin laughed out before raising a mug. “Toast then to the Witcher! The White Wolf who clashed with the Hound!” Everyone raised up a mug and leaned in to clack them together, Tyrion having to stand on his bench seat to do so.

Time passed as the group chatted about, Tyrion being the most active as he focused on Geralt. The Witcher spend a good while sharing his half truthful story, having refined it further after studying more about the world. He’d go on to share the tale about what a Witcher on, even casually remarking about the monster slaying as the ale loosened in his tongue. Despite the fact he could drink the most toxic of potions and endure the deadliest poisons, booze still affected him like everyone else.

Strangely though Tyrion seemed more fascinated and curious about Geralt’s claims of monsters. “Can’t remember the last time someone admitted to believing such things with such a dead serious look…while half drunk” The dwarf chuckled. “Yet you seem like no lying man Geralt, even if what you say is outlandish.”

“Same could be said about dragons and generation long seasons.” The Witcher countered back.

Tyrion paused, thinking some counter argument. “True…right another mug then!”

As the Lannister refilled his mug, Geralt took a sip from his. “So what were you saying about the Wall earlier? Not planning on joining the Watch are you?” The Witcher questioned.

“Gods no!” Tyrion laughed out. “I enjoy my role in life, being my family’s amusing sideshow while I go off enjoying all the whores and finest drinks I desire…all on my father’s gold of course.”

“Quite the carefree career you have. I bet many envy your way of life.” The Witcher chuckled while the dwarf a grandiose wave of his hand.

“Life is short Geralt. Too often many are focused on achieving fortune and power, even those with it already. I’m happy with my lot in life and plan to enjoy all the world’s pleasures and see its many wonders.” He declared to the group.

“So, you’re visiting the Wall…for sightseeing? The Witcher questioned.

“It is one of the many wonders of our world yet…” Tyrion paused to think for a moment, tapping his fingers along his mug before a mischievous grin crossed his lips. Standing on his bench seat, he’d suddenly climbed onto the table quite agilely, nearly knocking a few plates and mugs doing so. “I do one amusing idea in mind. I plan to go up to the top, watch the sunset with the best wine I can find…and piss off the edge of it!” The group burst out in laughter at his crazy idea. “Bet that will give the Wildlings pause to near it!”

Jon shook his head in embarrassment, yet smirked in amusement as Tyrion gulping down his drink before returning for his seat. Geralt smirked, yet glancing at the head table where he could see Cersei eyeing the group, a distasteful look showing towards her noisy younger brother. Seemed the stories of the two have sour relations were true if that look meant anything. The woman however noticed the Witcher’s gaze, giving a soft smile before looking to Catelyn who she quickly began to talk with.

“So what about you Witcher? From what I hear you plan to go to the Wall as well. Perhaps you can tag along with me. It surely make the journey more interesting with us sharing tales along the way.” The dwarf offered.

Geralt thought for a moment. “Maybe. Haven’t decided when or if I should go yet.”

“I know I’ll be heading up there once the King plans to leave.” Jon quickly remarked. “Planning to join the Watch, work my up to be a Ranger.”

The Lannister chuckled, shaking his head at Jon’s plans. “Ah boy…you are making a rash choice there.” Tyrion remarked.

“I’ve thought hard on this choice! Uncle says I’d fit in well at Castle Black.” Jon argued back.

The dwarf chuckled at the remark as he’d stir mug about in one hand. “Matters if you enjoy the company of criminals and cowards. Trust me, you’re better off here or seeing the world like me before giving up your freedom there.”

Jon was silent on the matter as he’d sip at his ale, no doubt wondering why so many people kept warning him away from joining the Watch.

Smirking and shaking his head, Geralt looked over the party to see that Robert was about the crowds…and currently fondling up a comely servant girl gleefully. Just a glance at the main table and he could tell Cersei was not amused considering the cold look she had. 

However Robert stopped his toying before noticing Geralt looked at him. “White haired one! Gah right, Geralt!” The King loudly called out. “Time, we had that talk yes?”

Everyone at the table looked at Geralt, surprised at the King’s request. The Witcher shrugged as he’d set his mug down and give a short wave to the group. “The majesty calls.” 

“Try to be respectful. From what I know, Robert can have quite the temper.” Tyrion warned before chatting with Graffin, seeming curious to know the full story of the soldier’s first meeting with the Witcher.

“Best not keep the King waiting.” Jon added, patting Geralt on the back. “And don’t worry, not planning to run off while you away.”

Geralt nodded before he’d leave the table and head towards Robert who shifted off from the crowded area to a more open spot off to the side. The large man found a loose chair to sit down, giving a sigh as he’d stretch out before taking a deep gulp from a large goblet.

“Ned told me a bit more about you. How you’re some warrior monk type from far beyond the seas, chasing the future empress for some empire, if I’m correct?” The man bluntly asked.

Geralt moved to lean back against a nearby pillar, giving a small shrug at the King’s answer. “In simpler terms…yah pretty much.”

“Heh I always prefer it that way, if you’ll forgive me.” Robert chuckled with a big grin. “Soldier’s life does that to you. Never been one for formal matters that kingship shoves onto you.” Yet he’d shake his head and give a small frown. “Bah but I’m focusing on me. Let’s talk about you Geralt. I know you wish for my help to find your missing adopted daughter? You claim she perhaps beyond the Wall, right?”

Geralt simply nodded. “Yes. It’s my best guess that is where she’d be.”

“Must be crazy or brave to go off there alone. Care to tell me why she’d do that?” Robert questioned.

“It’s complicated.” 

“If you mean prophecies and fate…” Robert started, making Geralt give a surprised look. “Don’t be take me for a fool Geralt. When I asked Ned he told me much about this Ciri. I’m not one to believe in such things…then again I never believed I’d be ruler of the Seven Kingdoms.” He’d chuckle at the title, yet there seemed something…off with the tone, almost a depressed hint on the matter. “So, what do you want?”

“Resources and men to go beyond the Wall. Been studying the known maps and already have a chart of an expedition to follow. Should lead me to her or at least find her trail.” Geralt calmly stated.

“Already quite prepared it seems…”The King muttered as he’d have one hand tap lightly at his goblet. “You seem to think we’d already be at an agreement. You may have done my kingdom a service, yet your request be quite costly and risky to do.” 

Geralt’s eyes narrowed sternly, yet Robert didn’t flitch at the intimidating stare. “You’re making a mistake.” The Witcher started before the king spoke up again.

“And you think you can make demands from me.” The man said sternly. “You’re asking me to commit a fortune’s worth on a suicidal mission to find a girl who may very well be dead. I understand your desperation Geralt, yet nothing but the Wildlings and beasts can survive beyond the Wall.”

“Ciri’s endured worse.” The Witcher argued. “Yet leaving her alone endangers all, both your land and mine.”

“That’s another thing. I have to go off your word! I’m not a man of superstition as I said, so excuse me if I find this ‘White Frost’ that Ned described to be exaggerated at best.” Robert pointed out sternly, yet he’d quickly compose himself. “That aside though, I like you because of your bluntness since few men are brave enough to do so. I respect you because you defended my lands from savages from beyond the Wall. Yet trust is something you must personally earn.” He’d clench one hand tightly, striking it at the arm rest of the chair. “So that is why I have an offer to make for you.”

“An offer?” Geralt questioned.

“Recent events at King’s Landing has many people tense. My Hand is dead and Ned is to be my replacement. He’s the only man I truly trust, yet I can’t rely on just him.” He’d sip from his goblet, giving a refreshed sigh tasting the fine wine. “Yet you Geralt…I’ve never seen Ned so supportive of anyone else, much less an outsider like yourself. I can even tell that his family looks up to you…well…except Cat, yet the woman is tough to win over.”

“And your point sire?”

“It’s simple. Come with us to King’s Land and serve alongside Eddard. Despite how the Seven Kingdoms look, there is a storm of conflict brewing. I can’t share what may come…yet it could lead to war.” Robert’s eyes had a fierce gleam in them, almost an eagerness at the mention of conflict. “Dueling the Hound shows you’re a masterful warrior and from what Luwin has told me you’re as wise as any Maester. A rare and useful mix of skills, one that I can rely on.” 

Useful. Geralt hated when people said that about him. Made him feel like he was some tool. “So what are you offering then? Be your enforcer and in exchange earn the support I need for my expedition?”

“Nah...I’m thinking possibly knighthood.” The King boldly declared, making Geralt give a surprised look. “Hahah, surprised you there! I take past kings never offered such an opportunity?”

“I was in fact knighted once did by the queen of Rivia when I stepped in during a major battle. Although…I’m no longer under her service after certain circumstances.” Geralt explained.

“Interesting…you’ll have to share that tale another time.” Robert muttered with a small nod before looking back at the Witcher. “Yet I’m not jesting with you Geralt. Come serve at my court in King’s Landing and earn my full trust. In due time I’ll can provide everything you’ll need to go on your expedition beyond the wall.”

Geralt silently studied the King, trying to get idea of his intentions. Yet the man’s gaze was steadfast, stubbornly hiding any inner emotions. “Wouldn’t the Lannister’s and other nobility take issue with you accepting a low born sell sword to your court?” The Witcher questioned.

“Hah! If anything my extended family are interested in you. They may be stuck up at times, yet they know when an even a low born has worth. The Hound and his family are an example of that. Also fuck what the rest of the nobility think! I’m the damn King and I decide who’s worth serving me or not!” The fat ruler laughed out. 

It was hard to deny that Robert cared little for tradition on this matter, hinting how the man favored talent over noble standing. It was obvious he wanted him as an ally, a wild card for whatever events were playing out in the land’s capital. “I’m not one to get involved in politics and intrigue. It has never worked well for me.”

“I understand your hesitation Geralt. Yet I’m a patient man, so no need for you to accept my offer now.” Robert quickly answered back. “Just think this over. After all, allying with me can do more then find your lost daughter. Think of the power and wealth you can gain as well.”

Geralt was silent, hands clenching slightly at how the man was trying to bribe him at this point. He hated how men like him thought gold and status could win him over. Yet he’d calm him, holding back any spiteful words before speaking back. “I’ll think about it my lord.” He said, voice calm yet having a cold hint to it, one which Robert noted.

By that point the king would stand up fully from his seat, showing off just how tall he was as he stared eye to eye with Geralt. He’d hold out one large hand, not breaking the deadlock stare with the Witcher. “Consider my offer well. It’s one that is not lightly refused.”

Geralt looked to the king’s hand before grasping it, Robert’s grip becoming iron strong as the two shook. Despite being overweight, the man had a shocking hidden strength about him. Yet Geralt didn’t yield, his own grasp matching up to the king’s. “Enjoy the feast King Robert. I think I’ve had my fill for tonight.” At last the two let go of each other’s hand before the Witcher gave a short nod to the king. Turning about, he walked away through the crowd. Jon and Tyrion saw him hurry by, even calling out to him, yet Geralt ignored the two as he left the hall.

Robert growled lowly as he flexed his hand, feeling the soreness left from their short grapple. “Just as stubborn as Ned.” He muttered, his frown turning to a small smirk before he’d head back to rejoin the feast. He still had that servant girl on his mind and he had no plans on letting her slip away!

….

Outside, Geralt moved back for his room, thinking deeply over tonight’s events. In the end it came down to a simple aspect…everyone wanted to use him for their own ends. Joffrey saw him as some gladiator to amuse him. Ned saw him as a sympathetic man willing to help for an honorable cause. King Robert saw him as a tool to further whatever political plans he had in mind.

“Different world…same selfish motives.” Geralt muttered to himself as he’d stop at the small yard before the Great Hall. Taking a deep breath of cold fresh air to clear his head, he’d clear someone approaching him from behind, making him glance about.

“You…Did the King send you to double his offer?” Geralt offered, making the blond-haired man chuckle out in amusement.

“No, although I now wonder what he tried to buy you off with now that you mentioned it.” Jaime Lannister asked in a jesting manner. “The King is known for throwing quite the lavish gifts to win over even the most troublesome of people.”

Jaime wasn’t in his King’s Guard armor, wearing instead fine tanned leather and gold threaded outfit, a quite dashing one considering its custom design. “I see you and Robert chatted at last. From the way he looked you must have angered him as well.” The dashing royal guard said in a formal yet friendly manner.

“I do that often to everyone. Kings, nobles and their fancy guards.” Geralt muttered back as he moved for the gate door.

The Lannister laughed out at how Geralt rudely dismissed him yet didn’t back away. “My…they weren’t joking about you. Old Wolf is a fitting title considering those gruff manners.” Jaime chuckled, much to the Witcher’s annoyance.

“Old Wolf?” Geralt grumbled, wondering who came up with the name. “Pretty boring name considering.”

“I fitting nickname though. Scarred face, white hair and those strange eyes…very wolfish. Even the way you fight matches. Fast yet fierce.” Jaime remarked, although his tone had a hint of respect mentioning how Geralt fought. “Still didn’t stop you from taking a beating from what I saw.”

“Match was a draw last I checked. Had Sandor on his ass in the end.” Geralt remarked back. 

Jaime nodded his head in agreement. “Ah yes you did…though people say you cheated.” He’d pace around to be in front of the Witcher, getting between him and the gate out. “Everyone baffled at how you knocked him down with little more than one hand. Man is nearly seven feet tall after all and decked in heavy armor. Bet it take Robert in his prime to knock him down with a single unarmed strike to the chest.”

Geralt shrugged, keeping that cold stare towards the Lannister. “Maybe I just spooked him, made him over reacted and just trip over himself.” He simply stated back. 

“Possible.” Jaime said, yet witty hinted in those eyes showed his doubt as he’d step closer, although Geralt didn’t back off. “Yet perhaps when you’re cornered like that again you may just be desperate enough to try that move again.” The Lannister have one hand reach forward to give a mocking prod at Geralt’s chest…a big mistake. 

At this point the Witcher’s considerable patience was thin as his right hand moved lightning fast, grabbing Jaime’s wrist roughly. The knight’s expression quickly shifted from confident to tense as he locked gazes with Geralt, seeing frustration in them. If anything, his gaze showed true shock, unsure how Geralt had moved so fast in just the blink of an eye.

“Don’t you have a half drunk king to babysit? Last I checked he was fondling some girl right in front of his dear wife.” Geralt remarked, voice low and almost growl like while his grip loosened slightly after a long moment.

Jaime was silent for a long moment before he’d force his arm back to free himself from the Witcher, rubbing at the sore spot and flexing his hand. “You have a point. Rather not have the King embarrass himself in front of everyone, especially my sister.” He calmly stated before walking around the Witcher and back towards the Great Hall to rejoin the feast. “Enjoy your rest Witcher. Remember that I’ll be keeping an eye on you.” He added before entering the bustling hall.

“Smug bastard…” Geralt muttered to himself. If anything he’d have to watch on for that one. While overconfident like Theon, Jaime obviously had a sharp eye to have noticed Geralt using a Sign in close quarters. Last he needed was someone learning about the magical skills he had been keeping hidden. Returning Guest House and to his room, Geralt drop onto the large bed, sighing as the ale and bothersome conversations lingered in his head made his head throb. “Guh…now I remember why I hate feasts and parties.” With that said, he’d shift to reach for his pack.   
Normally he saved White Honey when he over used his more toxic potions, yet he always found a light sip of the stuff to be a potent hangover cure. The sweet mixture didn’t mix well with the alcohol aftertaste, yet swallowing it down clearing the burning feeling in his throat and settling his stomach. Sighing, he’d shift to lay on his back before closing his eyes, trying to shut out the pestering thoughts that filled his mind.

….


	8. Season 1 - Episode 7: Broken Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt deals with the aftermath of King's Robert's feast, yet a normal day takes a grim turn for House Stark draws him into a new web of intrigue and conspiracy.

Chapter 7: Broken Things

….

Geralt slept in, waking up late morning as he heard the sound of horses being readied. Getting out of bed and changing clothes, he’d head outside to see Robert along with the Ned, Robb and Theon all on horseback. Eddard saw the Witcher, waving him over to him.

“Rest well?” He asked, making Geralt nod and sigh.

“Yah…hope my sudden disappearance wasn’t an issue.” He muttered back.

“Heh, Robert seemed frustrated with you after your discussion. Rambled on a good while about you mistrusting his generosity.” Ned added in a hush voice.

“Your friend tried to bribe me with knighthood in exchange for my services.” Geralt quickly informed Ned, making him blink in surprise.

“Wait…he seriously did that?” The Northern Lord muttered while Geralt shrugged slightly. “He mentioned that in the crypts, yet I thought he was bloody joking.”

“You sound unamused.” Geralt questioned back.

“In a way yes. Then again I should have expected Robert to do such a thing.” Sighing, he’d look to the King who was nearing the group. “I’ll talk to him again. Try to reason with him and clear things up.”

“My answer is going to be no still.” The Witcher calmly stated.

“I guessed that as well. Just don’t want him debating on throwing you in a cell for insulting his generosity.” Shaking his head, Ned look back at Geralt. “Just try to stay out of trouble today alright? I heard about your duel with the Hound and I’d rather not see a grudge match happen while I’m off hunting.”

“Tell that to Joffrey. The royal prince set that up.” Geralt argued back.

“Ugh…another matter to discus with the King.” Ned grumbled under his breath. “Again just try to have a normal day. No sparring lessons with anyone.” He’d shift his mount about, moving slightly towards Robert who was busy talking to Robb. “Although Geralt…thank you for getting Jon come to the fest. I know Catelyn is critical about him…”

“If anything you should apologize to him. You’re his father after all yet you didn’t try to have him take part.” Geralt calmly spoke back, the words making Eddard grip his reins tightly.

“I know Geralt. Reminding me doesn’t make that shame any less easy for me.” Ned muttered, before riding off to the group. He and the King began to talk on some important matter before heading out. Eddard would pause though to wave to Bran who watched the hunting party leave. Once the group had left, Bran hurried over to Geralt, his young dire wolf following close behind.

“Wish father could have let me come along. I’m old enough to ride after all.” The young boy muttered.

“Boar hunting is a dangerous thing to do. Besides doubt you could hold a long spear properly with your height.” Geralt remarked back, making Bran frown before seeing the Witcher’s toying smirk.

“Yet I have a dead eye shot with the crossbow! Can we shoot a bit at least…or maybe more sword lessons?” Bran quickly asked.

“Sadly can’t. Your father doesn’t want me drawing attention after yesterday.” He said, making Bran give a disappointed look. “Maybe tomorrow or a few days later once things have settled down.”

“Fine. I guess I’ll go for a walk around the keep…” Bran muttered, before petting his dire wolf’s head. 

“Planning to go climbing again?” Geralt questioned, making Bran gulp nervously. “Don’t worry, not going to tell your mother. Focus on low climbing spots and safe hand holds. Besides that stay safe.” Brushing up Bran’s hair, the boy chuckled and nodded, hurrying off out of the castle gates and for the outer grounds of the Hold, his young direwolf chasing after him.

Not long after, a familiar voice spoke up from across the yard. “Geralt! Why did you run off like that last night?”

Looking about, he’d quickly see that it was Jon who looked a bit ruffled up as if having just woken up, no doubt woozy after all that drinking. From what the Witcher remembered, Graffin and Tyrion had the group on a drinking contest, one which Jon didn’t last long in.

“Had a small disagreement with the King. Decided it be better to retire early before letting tempers flare.” He quickly explained to the young man.

“Wait…you ARGUED with King Robert?” Jon remarked, open shock hinted in his voice.

“Not the first King I’ve bothered nor the last.” The Witcher casually remarked much to Jon’s surprise. 

“Ughh…I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that and just…blame the headache for mishearing.” The Stark muttered as he rubs the sides of his head while Geralt smirked in amusement.

“So what about Tyrion? Lost count on how many mugs he had downed. Can sure handle his liquor for such a small man.” Geralt asked once Jon had recovered from his short headache.

“Well…can’t remember where he went afterwards. Saw him going along the yard with the last bottle we had.” Jon muttered after thinking for a moment. 

“Right then…so we should start at the Great Hall yard gate. Come along then.” 

“Wait what…why?” Jon questioned, confused at what Geralt was doing. “I’m sure Tyrion is fine. Maybe he stumbled back to his room in the end or…something.”

“Maybe. Still, rather not have him passed out naked in some corner of the yard. Be embarrassing for the rest of our guests if he’s found that way.” The Witcher explained to Jon as they’d move across the yard and to the wall that separated the main court yard to the Great Hall yard.

“Alright fair point…yet how are you going to find one man’s trail among…” Jon paused as he’d realize the mess of foot prints in the soft dirt and light mud. “…among all this. Must be dozens of people who passed through here last night.”

Geralt kept that casual demeanor as he’d pace around the mess of footprints. “Trick is finding the one that stands out. Lucky our query is one of a kind among everyone.” He’d focus his sharp senses as he’d crouch low, yellow eyes quickly scanning each foot print as he judged their size, shape and the distance of each step. Next, he traced their direction as he began to thin out the number of paths.

“You’re right on that, yet it will take hours to trace one small set of feet among so many.” Jon remarked, making Geralt look up at him.

“Do you always get this whiney when hungover?” Geralt joked, making Jon give an annoyed look before smirking. “Anyway, sword lessons maybe over. Time I show you how to track. So, get over here.”

Jon was hesitant yet he’d move beside the Witcher and he’d crouch beside the white haired man, pausing to look over the mess of foot prints. “Alright…so…what now?”

“Well for one you don’t have Witcher eyes.” He’d tap the side of his head to remind Jon of his cat like eyes. “These aren’t just for show. My sight is many times sharper than a normal man’s and even see in low light. However even someone like you can see what I see if they look correctly.” Pausing, he’d look back at the prints. “So then…looking for a man with half shoe sizes, short step and smooth sole print. Use those details to your advantage.”

Jon was silent as he’d look closely, seemed unsure for a long while yet suddenly noticed something. Shifting, he’d touch over one smaller print that was partly hidden among the larger ones. Slowly he’d began to follow them, starting off slowly yet soon standing up to follow a more solid trail. The two began to zigzag around the yard, showing Tyrion’s haphazard trip towards the stables. In the end, the two neared the kennels were the dogs slept and just nearing the pen they could hear snoring behind the board fencing. 

Both Jon and Geralt moved in close, peeking over the short fence to find Tyrion, thankfully clothed, passed out among a bunch of dozing hounds. They looked at each other, baffled and amused at the sight as the dwarf scratched his face in his sleep, grumbling a bit as he did so.

“Water?” Jon remarked with a smirk.

“Water.” Geralt answered in agreement as he’d find a clean bucket nearby and move over to a nearby water barrel to fill it up. Soon he’d splash it out at the sleeping dwarf and hounds, the canines yelping in shock from the splash, making them squirm away while the dwarf gasped out.

“Gah! Not storm season already!” He groaned as he’d spit out water out of his mouth and rub his face, blinking rapidly as he started to get an idea of his surroundings. Looking up at Geralt and Jon, noticing the bucket in hand, he’d give an annoyed look as he’d stagger up onto his feet. “That is a cruel…joke you know sir Witcher.” He muttered as he’d brace against the fence for support.

“Could give you another douse to help with the smell.” Geralt teased, making Tyrion roll his eyes yet smirk in amusement.

“I’ll pass on that thank you very much.” With a bit of effort, he’d climb over the fence, nearly falling over yet landing on his feet, even giving a small opened armed gesture as if finishing a performance. Jon in good humor gave a short clap.

“Can we expect backflips and cartwheels next?” He chuckled was Tyrion moved up to the two.

“Still working on that act I’m afraid. Anyway care to explain why you two decided to interrupt my beauty sleep?” The dwarf questioned before giving a small yawn and stiff stretch.

“Not polite to leave a drinking companion alone. Besides felt I needed to apologize for running off last night.” Geralt explained to the short Lannister.

“Well considering how miffed you made Robert, I say it was worth it. Never seen the King so frustrated and lively like that. Think he was debating giving you a medal for bravery…or to have you flogged for disrespecting him.” Tyrion remarked back.

“Charming…” Geralt muttered, guessing his chat had the King more bothered then expected. “Also ran into your brother when I was leaving last night.”

“Ah yes dear Jaime. Far more likeable then my sister, at least from my point of view. Let me guess, challenge you to a fight?” It wasn’t hard for the dwarf to know the answer from Geralt dead set stare. “Right…guess some explaining then.” Glancing around, he’d see a bench nearby and hurried over to sit, almost tumbling onto his back. Geralt and Jon followed, yet decided to remain standing as the dwarf lodged back.

“Now you may have heard plenty of stories about my good brother. How he rose up from an aspiring page, trained under the fine care of master swordsman Barristan, commander of the King’s Guard. He’s skill at the joust is among the best in the land and he’s a fury when it comes to the melee.” Tyrion explained. “Overall Sandor’s has been his latest opponent when it came to battles, yet he’s gained the edge over the Hound. As for the Mountain well…the Mountain is another matter.”

“The point Tyrion. I get it…your brother enjoys fighting.” Geralt grumbled.

“Yes. It’s what drives him really. Thing is Eddard has been on his list of people he wishes to duel, mainly because the Warden of the North has the claim of slaying Arthur Dayne during the Rebellion. Sir Arthur was Jaime’s idol…so you get the idea.” Tyrion then paused for a moment, taking a deep breath. “Then YOU show up. When the raven came telling of a strange white-haired man with twin blades I saw the excitement in my brother’s eyes. Hearing how you battled a dozen savages single handed must have brought up old memories of Arthur who often fought outnumbered in many battles.”

“So, wait…you’re saying that he sees me as some replacement for Dayne? A man who’s be dead for nearly twenty years.” Geralt questioned.

The dwarf gave a half nod and shrug. “Your skills seem to match the legendary knight…Eh though you lack Dayne’s dashing looks…” 

Geralt’s gaze narrowed as he swore he was getting tired about the ‘lack of looks’ remark.

“…No offense.” Tyrion finished. “Point is he sees you as a chance to face his idol. Already he’s been listening to every rumor about you and no doubt will be trying to study the way you fight. He’ll size you up, learn your strengths and weaknesses before then crushing you…eh…possibly.”

“Explain his pushy nature. Wanted to test my temperament…and my reaction. Guess I surprised him considering.” Geralt muttered.

“I’d not be too certain. The more one rivals against him the more serious he’ll get and when he’s serious can become quite deadly.” Tyrion remarked in a concerning manner. By now the dwarf shift off his seat, seeming to be mostly recovered by now. “Overall I tell you this as a warning. Don’t challenge Jaime.”

“Don’t plan to…more worried he’ll force me into a fight somehow.” Geralt remarked back.

The dwarf just shook his head as he’d pace by the Witcher and Jon, his direction towards the Great Hall again. “Anyway, while I enjoy chatting I feel I’m in need of a little breakfast.”

“It’s nearly lunch time by my guess.” Jon piped in.

“Then brunch then!” Tyrion quickly answered back as he’d already be headed off on his own towards the Main Hall.

Jon and Geralt looked to each other, unsure what to make of the eccentric Lannister. “So what do you think about what he said Jon?” The Witcher asked the young man.

“Can’t say for sure. I’ve heard of Jaime’s many tournament accomplishments and the stories about the time he served under Mad King. Man seems like a natural talent seeking that ‘dragon’ to slay.” Jon answered back.

“Wonderful…” Geralt sighed as he’d pace around a bit, already trying to figure out a solution to this new annoyance. “Any plans for today?” He’d ask Jon.

“Have a few studies to finish along with some chores. Besides that, nothing else by evening time.”

Thinking for a moment, Geralt sighed as he realized he’d have little ease to do today. “Maybe I’ll leave the keep for a bit. Go on a long walk to avoid everyone trying to bargain or fight with me. Just like back home…same problems.”

“These kinds of things happen to you all the time before you came here?” Jon questioned curiously.

“Not important. Overall I’ve dealt with worse.” Pausing for a moment, he quickly remembered one last thing. “By the way. Good work finding the right trail. Didn’t expect you to get it on the first try.”

“Oh…umm…thanks.” Jon muttered, a bit off guard on the compliment. “Anyway should get to my chores. See you later Geralt.”

Nodding, the Witcher watched Jon hurry off across the yard to talk to some of the workers. Now on his own, Geralt sighed as he’d think over what he could do until hunting party returned in the evening. After a moment of thinking, he decided to go check up at the black smith to see how Bran’s crossbow was going. He was certain it be finished by now. The smithy was close by the kennels and from the sound of it, the blacksmith was already at work hammering away at something.

Nearing the small building, he’d hang back when he heard a gruff voice speak out. “You can fix the armor right? Got it dented up after yesterday.” Sandor asked the bearded blacksmith. The tall warrior wasn’t in the same armor as before, having changed into a lighter set of chain and metal armor with leather under it all. 

“O-Of course. Doesn’t seem serious so I’ll have it fixed up by tomorrow.” The blacksmith quickly remarked, obviously nervous with the scarred man. 

“Good.” The Hound turned about yet stopped as he realized Geralt was standing close by. His eyes narrowed, his right eye almost closed because of the burn scars. “Ugh…you again. What do you want?”

“Checking up an order, that’s all.” Geralt simply answered bac  
k.  
Sandor gave a grunt of disinterest as he’d move closer towards Geralt, who didn’t move an inch back from the intimidating warrior. Up close his sharp nose could smell alcohol coming off the man, explain his gruff speech and heavy step to keep balance.

“So what is you big plan huh? Why are you sticking with the Starks?” The man asked gruffly. “Not exactly the wealthiest family among the Kingdoms, especially compared to the Lannister’s. They have a good reputation yet too stuck on it from what I can tell. Have a lot of land…that is if you don’t mind forests and snow. 

At that point Geralt realized what Sandor was getting at, making him frown slightly at the man. “If you’re saying I’m here for personal gain, you’re wrong.” He’d remark back. “The Starks took me in after my encounter with the Wildlings. They could have sent me on my way after questioning me, yet they let me stay. Even offered to help me find my missing daughter. Besides that, they’ve also shown me more respect and kindness then most back home.”

Sandor laughed quite loudly at Geralt’s answer, shaking his head in amusement. “So you’re here because of gratitude? Heh…quite the softy for such a fierce fighter.” The man remarked back even as Geralt’s eyes narrowed in annoyance. “The Lannister’s earned my loyalty by making something out of my family. As for Robert I respect him for his efforts during the Rebellion. Yet you…” He’d look right at Geralt, smirking slightly. “…you’ll just cling to anyone who shows you a hint of kindness. They’ll drag you down in the end when times get tough. That is the price you’ll pay when you make friends of others.” Pausing, he’d saw how Geralt’s expression not weaving, making him grunt and wave a gauntleted hand about. “Just the advice ‘friend’. Overall I recommend you move on from here while you have the chance.”

“Noted…now will you move aside?” Geralt calmly muttered. In the end, the Hound grunted as he’d shift by Geralt and walk across the yard for the Great Keep, no doubt to watch over the bothersome prince. His attention focused to the blacksmith, who seemed quite baffled that the Witcher had talked down the Hound with such ease. “So how is the crossbow doing? Is it ready?” The Witcher asked casually, making the man snap to attention and nod. 

“Yes indeed! Followed the instructions to the mark. Used the best materials we have so it will be more durable as well.” The man remarked before picking up the one-handed crossbow from the workbench, offering up for Geralt to inspect. Taking the weapon, he’d examine it over closely to ensure it was in working order and top quality. 

“Draw seems strong…flexible and easy to pull…” He muttered as he’d test it out. “Quite well done.”

The man nodded, giving a small smile from the compliment. “Give my regards to Bran. I’m sure he will put it to good use.”

The two shook hands before Geralt departed, heading back for his room to get the last part of Bran’s gift ready along with relax for a good while.

…

As the afternoon began to creep in, Geralt gathered up Bran’s crossbow along with the leather bolt quiver had he also ordered, a small yet flexible holder which even had the Stark house symbol on it. Yet as he got the holder filled with extra bolts, there be a sudden knock at his door. 

“Come in.” He spoke out, the door opening to show it was lady Catelyn and Sir Rodrik. The woman had a worried look in her eyes, something he hadn’t seen from her. The Master-at-Arms seemed tense yet calm overall.

“Geralt. There is a matter that I need your help with.” Catelyn asked in a calm manner. “It’s about Bran…”

Curious, he’d turn to look at the woman. “What do you mean? Last I saw him, he was off exploring the grounds just outside the walls.”

“Wait…you let him go off beyond the walls alone?” Catelyn asked in surprise, a hint of anger in her tone.

“He has Summer with him. The direwolf maybe young, but it’s big enough to guard him while he explores the grounds.” Geralt assured her. “Besides, he can be too far out from the keep’s walls.”

Despite her frustration, Catelyn composed herself from snapping out at the Witcher. “Then I take you’ll go off to find him. He’s been gone for hours and I’d like him home for when his father returns from the boar hunt.” Her tone of voice made her request sound more like an order, despite the formalness.

“Alright. I can understand that.” He’d put Bran’s crossbow and quiver aside on the desk before looking for Sir Rodrik. “I haven’t been outside Winterfell too much. Any unique landmarks or areas that Bran may have gone to?”

“Aye. I have a few worth seeing. The area around Winterfell did have extra fortifications from past generations. Watch towers, walls and minor buildings. Good few are still around yet been neglected for a long time.” The Master-at-Arms answered back.

Geralt nodded, before grabbing his swords, which made Catelyn nervous for a moment. “Sounds like a lot of ground to cover. Get a few horses while I gather some of the men. Think Jon and some of the guards should be finished with their duties for now.”

“Good idea Witcher.” The knight said with a nod before he’d move to leave, waiting for Catelyn to follow. The noble woman, did show a hint of dislike at the mention of Jon being part of the search party yet she didn’t speak out against it.

“Thank you Geralt. Please have Bran back soon.” With that she’d leave the room while Geralt finished getting his gear sorted out. Heading outside, he’d see that Jon was chatting with Graffin and the other guards who had finished sorting through the armory for the day. The group quickly noticed him approach the group and cut the chatter down.

“Hey there Geralt.” Graffin spoke out, waving slightly while the Witcher gave a small nod to him. 

“Didn’t expect you out and about so soon.” Jon remarked. “Still going on that ride around the grounds like we planned?”

“Small changes of plans on that. Lady Catelyn asked me to look for Bran. He hasn’t come back since the late morning and she’s worried.” Geralt quickly explained. “Good chance to practice your tracking some more. Larger area like the plains be fitting for that.”

“Sure that’s a good idea? Bran is missing after all.” Jon questioned.

“I’m sure he’s fine. Doubt an animal could bother him when Summer is around him and he has a dagger last I checked. I doubt there are hardened criminals sneaking around the plains of Winterfell.” Geralt reassured Jon before looking to Graffin. “Can you and some of the men come along?”

“Sure! Sort of our job to protect the Stark’s after all.” The soldier chuckled before nodding to two of his fellow men.

By this point Rodrik arrived with horses for the group. They quickly split into groups with Jon paired with Geralt, Rodrik with one of the soldier and Graffin with the other soldier. They’d ride out of the main gate of Winterfell before splitting up to cover a different area around the vast castle. Geralt’s group to the north, Graffin to the south and Rodrik to the east. Geralt and Graffin agreed to meet in the western area if they found nothing in their sections.

Jon and Geralt rode for a while, going at a slow place as the two looked across the vast plains. The Witcher’s sharp eyes glanced around the grassy ground, noticing for any hint of a trail Bran or Summer could have left. Yet after a while Jon spoke up to get his attention.

“So how did you get so good at tracking?” He questioned.

“Experience and a damn good teacher. Most of the things I hunt can be quite mobile and sneaky. People however are a mix bag, yet there are always clues to follow if you know you who’re following.” Geralt answered back.

“Makes sense…yet what are we even looking for? This isn’t the yard after all and we got miles of plains to cover.” Jon added.

At this point Geralt slowed his horse to a stop and looked to Jon. “Alright point taken. First off we know Bran can’t have gone too far on foot, at least a mile or two to be in range of Winterfell. Also think back over what I said to you back when we looked for Tyrion.”

“His size, being drunk and other details. Made it easier to figure…” At that point Jon quickly realized what Geralt was meaning and shake his head. “Of course. Bran’s trail stand out to anyone else’s!” Already the young man shifted on his saddle to look at the distant gate of Winterfell then the surrounding plains. Jon was silent as he’d move his horse slightly about, eyes focused to the ground while Geralt hanged back and followed to not get in Jon’s way. After a while, Jon would stop and suddenly drop off his saddle, moving over to a more exposed patch of wet soil among the grass.

“Got something.” He muttered as Geralt joined him, letting him see the small boot prints and canine marks on the ground. 

“Sharp eye.” Geralt remarked yet Jon was focused as he’d look to the northwest, scanning the hilly horizon. There were ruins in the distance, a sizable tower with a collapsing wall next to it. No doubt the two structures had once made a border of Winterfell’s territory. 

“Knowing Bran, he’d go off there. Lady Catelyn hates how he climbs around the keep, so make sense he’d go practice and explore there.” Jon deducted.

“Logical deduction. Let’s hope you’re right.” Geralt remarked as the two mounted up and rode off to the distant structure at a casual pace. After a while though Jon again spoke up.

“So Benjen said I could join the Watch. I talked to him last night and he said father would let me to join.” Jon suddenly revealed.

Geralt looked at him, a questioning look in his yellow eyes. “Didn’t we talk about this? Rushing off to join the Watch isn’t a smart move. Also, you seem to forget it’s not the honorable group it used to be like in the tales and history books.”

“I know…Tyrion jested about it…and then I questioned Benjen about the fact criminals make up most of the Watchers.” Jon was silent for a moment. “He told me it was all true, even told me how in a few days he was going to the next convoy from the capital with a new host of ‘recruits’.” Jon gripped his reins more tightly in frustration. “Thing is I’m not mad about that though, it’s the fact that my father never thought to tell me this himself.”

Geralt was silent for a long moment. “Because no parent wants to crush their children’s aspirations. It’s the same for those who dream growing up to become a knight or soldier. Often the role isn’t what it seemed to be and is often lacking.”

“Yet he was misleading me!” Jon snapped back. “And I question why…maybe he wanted me eager to run off to join just to please Catelyn. Maybe deep down he’s always resents me and just been that good at hiding it.”

However Geralt spoke up after that last remark. “Bullshit.” Jon looked at the Witcher with a confused look. “I don’t agree with your father on every matter. Heck this morning I questioned him for not personally including at the King’s feast. His reaction was frustration and shame for not doing so. He hated the fact he didn’t try.” Riding closer beside Jon, he’d continue. “Eddard is a good man yet in the end he has to follow the expectations others place on him, be it the other nobility or his wife.”

Jon was silent yet would speak up in the end. “You are right about it. In the end he has no little choice because I’m his bastard.” He calmly spoke back. “Despite it all…I still feel that Wall is my best choice.”

“Yet you can’t-” Geralt started yet stopped as they neared the tower. His sharp ears heard familiar barking and howls. He’d focus his gaze at the base of the mainly at a set of rubble below it where he saw the young direwolf circling around. “No.” He’d suddenly kick his horse into a full sprint, Jon being surprised by the Witcher’s reaction before seeing it too.

“Oh gods…” Jon muttered as he chased after.

Geralt slowed his horse, leaping off before hurrying to the rubble where Bran laid dead still. Quickly he had one hand at the boy’s neck while leaning his head close to his face. He’d feel a weak heartbeat and hear the shallow breath escape from the boy’s lips. “He’s alive!” Geralt called out to Jon as the young man hurried beside his fallen brother.

“How…what the hells happened?” Jon asked, a hint of panic in his voice.

Geralt checked over the boy, noting how blood was pooling only from the back, hinting a major injury there. “Can’t be sure without examining the area and the extent of his injuries. Right now, he’s bleeding badly right now…can’t imagine in internal injuries.” Pausing, he’d look at Jon. “Your cloak. Give it to me. We’re going to wrap him up and you’re going to take him back to Winterfell.”

Jon nodded in understanding, knowing that Geralt was more experienced with situations like this. The Witcher showed no panic or fear, only focused on the task at hand. Getting his black cloak off, Jon crouched down while Geralt carefully lifting Bran up. Blood soaked his hand just touching at the boy’s back, feeling the mark of the injury started at the lower spine. Getting the cloak around him, he’d carry the boy towards Jon’s horse while the young man mounted up. 

“Take him. Keep pressure on the wound and hold him close. Ride on the nearest trail and keep the horse steady. When you see any guard you tell them to get Rodrick. You understand?” Geralt calmly instructed. Meanwhile Summer moved up to Geralt, whining as she looked between him and his wounded master. “Follow them back boy. Keep an eye on Bran.” Geralt softly ordered. The dire wolf barked, understand before looking to Jon, pacing around his horse as he was ready to follow along.

“I’ll get there as fast as possible. Good luck finding out what happened here Geralt.” Jon answered back, composing himself after a moment.

Nodding, Geralt watched Jon move his horse ride out at a brisk pace for Winterfell. Watching them for a long moment, his attention shifted to the bloody rubble Bran had been on. “Time to work.” He muttered to himself as he’d crouch low to examine the area. “Blood splatter matches for a fall, not from simply tripping.” He muttered as he noticed the impact spot being a jutting piece of stone in the center of the rubble pile. “More fitting for a high fall, explain the focus point too.” 

His gaze looked up to the ruined tower, noting the viable heights that could explain the landing spot. “Should go up there. Get an idea of where the fall happened and what caused it.” Moving around the tower, he’d find the entrance yet slowly drew his steel sword. If this had been an attack he had to be sure no one was waiting to ambush him within the ruin. Being light with his step, he’d be careful where he stepped, not wanting to ruin any foot prints in the dirt and dust. His sharp eyes focused on the ground as he’d note two sets of fresh foot prints. 

“Huh...boot prints and ladies shoes. A couple? Two tracks leading in and out.” He muttered curiously. Pacing towards the stairs, he’d move up to the higher floors until reaching the top floor the damaged stairs reached. The area seemed clear, letting him relax as he’d sheath his blade once more. “Foot prints leads up here.” Following it along he’d see that it ended at the corner of the room.

“Seems they cleared this spot. Set something down too, cloak or blanket...” However he’d notice how the dust was spread about, giving him ideas why the cloth had been set down. “Heh…no doubt some lovers came here for some privacy. Place is far away enough to be secluded.” He’d catch an odd scent near the spot though, something flowery. “Perfume? Not something a commoner girl would have. Maybe a courtier or noble?” His attention moved to the nearby opening in the wall, a window that widened from the tower’s crumbling neglect. Moving towards it, he’d notice bare foot prints on the ground, fitting for a man’s when considering the size and shape. 

“Now why did you move there so suddenly?” He’d see the prints end at the rubble window which he’d gaze out from. Looking down he’d see the spot Bran had fallen onto, the height matching for the place right where the window opening was. Stepping out carefully to the ledge, he’d notice the loosened stone where the fall happened, mainly on the edge and on the very side of the opening. Focusing he’d see the faint marks of nail scratching and hand print from lingering dust. “Lost his grip or balance…perhaps trying to keep hold?” Looking back at the foot prints he already questioned what was going on here.

“Alright time to review…” Pacing back towards the blanket spot, he’d think for a moment. “A couple sneaks off here while Bran arrives unknowing. He climbs up the tower yet hears something, voice or moaning I’d guess.” Looking to the window, he’d continue. “Climbs closer and peeks in, seeing the couple in the middle of the act. Could be he was surprised and lost his grip. Couple hears the yell and fall, man comes to check which explains the prints by the window. Still…doesn’t explain why they didn’t go for help or take him away. Winterfell isn’t far after all.” Pausing though, he’d think over the details. 

“Other possibility. Other is Bran see’s the couple and his noticed. Man quickly reacts and grabs him before he can climb out of reach. Pushes Bran down to silence him before the two flee.” His gaze drifted back to the lover’s spot. “That means the couple must be someone Bran instantly recognized. Yet who could it be…” The sunlight shined in more, catching a faint gleam in the wooden floor which makes him crouch low to check. “Pieces of hair…long and golden.” Collecting the strands, he’d examine them closely. “Only one person at the keep with this color and lengths. Guess infidelity goes both ways between the King and Queen.” He’d pocket the hair as poof before moving back to the window.

“So the woman must be Cersei considering the hair and perfume. Just leaves us our mystery man.” However he’d stop muttering as he’d see a nearing group of riders in the distance, approaching the tower. He’d head down and back outside as the riders arrived, Rodrik being at the lead. 

“We came here as fast as possible. Jon brought Bran to the keep and Luwin is already tending to him.” The Master-at-Arms quickly explained. “Was it an accident? I’m surprised the boy would climb this tower despite its worn age.”

Geralt crossed his arms, shaking his head. “I searched the inside of the tower. Seems someone was there recently, at least a few hours.” He started off. The Witcher would explained his findings yet pull Rodrik aside to privately share the details about the blond hair and who he believed it to be. The knight was shocked at the idea.

“Look Geralt…what you’re suggesting is…” Rodrik muttered.

“Just going off the facts Rodrik. We don’t know who the man was or if he pushed Bran off or not. All I can say is the clues I found suggested that outcome.” Geralt answered back.

“Who else should we share this with?” The knight questioned.

“Lord Eddard for sure yet I don’t know if Lady Catelyn is fit to know this. She’ll be too hasty and accuse the Lannisters.” Geralt advised. 

Rodrik was silent, yet nodded in agreement. “She is distraught. You make a good point Witcher.” Looking to the men who were fanning around the area for any other clues, he’d continue to speak. “Well search the area more. Maybe can find out where they were heading.”

“They’d need to horses at least to arrive separately or gone by foot. Try to check the paths leading back to Winterfell, especially one that is partly hidden.”

The Master-at-Arms nodded. “And what will you do now?”

Geralt paused looking to Winterfell in the distance. “Need to examine Bran. He could have clues on him to identify the man. Besides, I feel my skills can help Luwin treat his injuries.”

“Agreed. You’ve done your part here Witcher.” The two shook hands while Geralt climbed back onto his horse. “We’ll search until nightfall before returning. I’ll be sure to inform you of anything new we discovered.”

Nodding, Geralt had his horse quickly move out across the plains, heading for Winterfell in a hurry. Arriving back to the main courtyard, there was already a crowd of people gathered around, quickly chattering about what was going on. Avoiding the group, he’d head to the stables to return the horse before hurrying across the yard quickly for the Great Keep. A few people couldn’t help but give a double take noticing Geralt’s sprint inhumanly quick yet guessed that the crisis at hand had him in a hurry.

He guards directed the Witcher to Bran’s room where Luwin was treating Bran’s injured. The bed was cleared of its fur covers and placed with clean sheets while Bran lay on his front, shirt remove which revealed the extent of his injury. His back was bruised and cut yet the lower part of his back had gash at the spine. Luwin was already stitching the wound carefully, the old man having a steady hand as he used the threat and needle. At times he’d get more ointment to clean the wound and prevent infection, correcting treating the injury.

Beside the bed Catelyn was next to Bran, holding one of his hands while staring at his face. The boy was still unconscious yet he seemed more relaxed from his peaceful expression. The woman’s face was still damp with tears, yet she had composed herself for the moment while Luwin worked. However, hearing Geralt enter, she’d look to him. Those eyes had a mix of emotions in them, making it hard to read how she felt. 

However he didn’t speak to her as he’d move beside Luwin. “How bad is it?” He calmly asked.

“The drop was a high one for sure…yet it was the landing that was the most life threatening.” The Maester muttered. “From what Jon told me, the jutting rubble has dislocated his lower spine and cut through his nerves. I’ve seen men cut in such ways lose all feeling to their lower bodies, often permanently.” Geralt was silent as he’d watch the Maester finish the stitching and sigh. “The boy may never walk again. I need to do more tests to judge his muscle reactions yet so far they don’t look good. We won’t know the full extent until he wakes up.”

At that point Catelyn spoke up, her voice low and cold. “You let this happen…”Both Geralt and Luwin looked at her, confusion showing across their faces while the woman continued to speak. “You knew that he’d go climbing beyond the Keep despite being disallowed from it. You didn’t even come along to watch him.” She’d sob, looking right at Geralt harshly. “Now he’s like this…crippled forever because of your choice!”

Geralt’s expression didn’t change as the woman accused him of being the cause for all of this. He’d step closer to her, yet she didn’t move an inch. “I understand your anger Lady Catelyn, yet putting blame on others isn’t going to help Bran or anyone else.” He calmly stated before glancing at the sleeping boy. “Maybe I should have gone with him, kept watch to make sure he was safe.” Yet he’d look back at her, yellow eyes stern towards her. “Yet I promise you…I’ll do everything I can to help him and the truth on what happened.

Catelyn was silent, letting those words sink in. “Are you saying someone caused this?” She asked in a faint voice.

He’d nod. “Found clues of a couple at the tower when he was climbing. Not completely sure if they made him fall or witnessed it thought…either way they either caused it or neglected to get help.” Pausing to let the details sink in, he’d continue. “Already have some suspects as well. Best I can say is that it was someone from Winterfell, one of the guests from the King’s caravan”

“Can you not share details with me?” She asked calmly back  
.  
Geralt was hesitant, before shaking his head. “It is too soon Lady-” He started before she interrupted him.

“Bran is my son and I have the right to know!” She’d snap back sternly.

“And your right but we’ve only started investigating. Right now your emotional and acting rash. If I told you who I believed was behind this, you’d rush off and create a scene. You’ll make the real suspect be on guard and make it harder to catch them.” He calmly explained to the noble woman. “Trust me on this matter. I’ve solved plenty of crimes far more complex than this, yet everyone needs to be calm and silent on the matter.”

Catelyn seemed ready to argue, yet she’d give a deep sigh and look back at Bran. She’d gently touch his face caringly before she’d speak once more. “Then I put my trust with you and the others. Don’t let those who did this go unpunished.”

“Trust me…” Geralt moved away from the bed, heading for the door. “…I won’t.”

…

Not long after leaving the room, one of the guards approached Geralt in the hall. “Witcher, Lord Stark and King Robert have returned from the hunt.” He quickly informed him.

“Good. Tell Eddard that I’ll be waiting for him at his study. We have a lot of discus.” He’d quickly tell the guard, who nodded and hurried off.

Turning to head for the study, Geralt ran into Jon who was hurrying for Bran’s room yet stopped when he found Geralt. “Did you find anything?” He asked the Witcher, who simply nodded. “Can you tell me who-” He started before the Witcher shook his head. 

“Too soon to start accusing anyone. Rather not go through the same conversation like I did with Catelyn to explain why.” He quickly explained to the young man. “Right now, be proud that you saved your brother and focus on what you can do to help him.”

Jon didn’t answer for a moment before nodding. “I’m just glad he’s alive really…” Pausing, he’d continue to speak. “I’m going to see him. I know he’s not awake, yet I need to just speak my mind to him…hope he can just hear me.”

Geralt heard how people did that for those in a coma. Sometimes it just eases the family’s worries or could rarely trigger a reaction from the inflicted. “Catelyn is with him. She’s very emotional right now yet she’s calmed down for now.” 

“I’ll be careful around her…if anything she…thanked me for bring him back.” Jon remarked. Glancing away from Geralt, he’d move pass him for the bedroom, opening the door and stepping in before closing it.

The Witcher paused for a moment before continuing on for the study, not letting anything else delay him. Already he’d see the door open and hearing Ned along with Robert speaking. He’d hang back as the two seemed to be arguing. 

“He’s my son! I can’t just leave him!” Ned snapped back at the King.

“Damn it I know that Ned!” Robert sternly remarked. “I’d be just as angry and stubborn if my own child was in that bed! Yet there is more at stake here then just your family…it’s the whole kingdom.”

Ned was silent for a moment, before he’d continue to talk. “You have to find someone else Robert. Cat will be devastated if I leave now and I don’t think I could fulfill my duties as your Hand.”

Heave footsteps followed, no doubt Robert stepping up to Ned. “There is no one else I can trust though. I know there are many qualified lords to choose, yet you’re the only one I fully trust!” The King paused for a long moment before speaking. “We’ll delay our journey for a few days. That should give you time to think this over and sort matters with your family. Again Ned…I understand family…but in the end your duty comes before all else.” 

Geralt kept hidden as the King left, although he’d wait a moment longer as Ned muttered lowly. “Duty…the damn chain that binds us all…”

At this point, Geralt would walk into the room, making Ned look up calmly to the Witcher. “How much did you hear?” He questioned.

“About half of it.” He truthfully answered. “Besides, I’d rather not reveal my findings to the King. This isn’t a matter he should get involved. If anything, the less people know the better.”

Eddard nodded as Geralt closed the study door and moved towards the desk which the lord stood behind. “So tell me what you found at the tower. Every detail.”

The Witcher did so, explaining all the clues he had found. He’d reveal the collection of golden hair and explain who it was from, yet Ned’s look beforehand showed he already knew. 

“Who else knows?” Ned calmly asked in a low voice.

“It’s just you, me and Sir Rodrik.” Geralt calmly answered back. “So what should we do? If Cersei was there this will…complicate things.”

Ned tapped his knuckles against the solid wooden desk, a hint of frustration in his eyes. “Yes…which is why we have to bide our time.” He calmly stated. “The final clue is finding out who she was with and questioning them. Whoever they are they are no doubt far less protected then she is.”

“Agreed…problem is I don’t know who it can be. King came with dozens of men ranging from courtiers, knights and servants. Can’t go interrogating them all without drawing attention.” Geralt remarked back.

Ned thought for a moment before an idea came to mind. “Her younger brother, Tyrion. You and him seem to be on good terms considering last night’s feast. He knows his sister well, perhaps he has an idea who she is with.”

“Kind of a stretch there. She can’t be stand looking at him, much less share stories of infidelity over dinner.” Geralt argued in a sarcastic manner.

“Jests aside, he’s a perceptive individual and he is at least open towards you.” Ned answered back. “If anyone knows the queen’s secrets it be him and if not then he may know someone else who can.”

“Maybe tricky to get the details from him privately. If the queen is behind this she’ll have those loyal to her keeping an eye out, especially her brother.” Yet he’d pause thinking over last night and what the dwarf had discussed. “Yet I have one idea…”

“What would that be?” Ned questioned.

“Tyrion plans to go to the Wall soon. He’ll be mostly by himself, far from any royal servants or people loyal to the queen. That give me time to figure out what he knows.” The Witcher explained.

Ned thought over the details, nodding in agreement. “It does. In the meantime I’ll try to keep an eye on the queen’s actions and movements. News of Bran’s survival is already spreading…so if she tries anything in Winterfell, we will know.”

Geralt gave a small sigh as he’d pace to the nearby window, looking out at the yard. Robert was talking to the Lannister’s, Joffrey standing by the man with an adoring look while the Hound stood by cross armed and bored. Cersei was listening intently to Robert and chatting back, no doubt discussing the news of Bran’s fall. 

“Thought I’d have a break from this. Had a life time of intrigue already.” Geralt muttered to Ned.

“The fate of all involved in politics is it not?” Ned chuckled lowly. “As for Robert’s offer…I think I have a solution that keep you independent from the Crown. Have to finalize a few matters though before we discuss it.”

“That is good to know. At least the King won’t be throwing me into any dungeons any time soon.” Geralt remarked with a small smirk. “Be on guard Lord Stark. Doubt this is over.”

“I know.” Eddard muttered as Geralt moved to leave the room “It’s only just the beginning…”

…


	9. Season 1 - Episode 8: The Road to Castle Black

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Determined to learn the truth of Bran's fall, Geralt goes to Castle Black alongside Tyrion and Jon, hoping to pry answers from the Lannister dwarf. Eddard offers a rare honor onto the Witcher for his brave actions. Meanwhile, more threats lurk in the cold roads north.

Chapter Eight: The Road to Castle Black

….

Three days had passed since Bran’s fall and the boy showed no signs of awakening. Geralt and Luwin had worked tireless to figure out how to revive the boy yet the Witcher knew that was up to time and luck. Catelyn continued to care for the boy, feeding and cleaning him as he slept in bed. If anything, the woman hardly slept or ate anything during her vigil.

Geralt kept to himself, although it seemed everyone was keeping to themselves at the same time. Jon seemed set on going to the Wall as the young man was busy getting supplies set and often chatting with Tyrion. The two worked well together with Tyrion giving insightful advice to Jon while the young man shared tales of training with the Witcher. At the same time, Geralt was also prepared for travel as he stored his own supplies and gear for the trip northward for the Wall.

Soon news went about that Eddard had reluctantly agreed to become the new Hand of the King. His wife was angered by the news, yet did not try to fight him in leaving. Geralt guessed with the new position, Ned would have be able to look into Cersei’s and the Lannister’s dealings along with investigate the mysterious death of Jon Arryn as well. Yet going to King’s landing would no doubt put Ned and his two daughters at risk being around so many supports of the Lannister family. For now, he only hoped Ned prepared for the two to be watched and guarded when they arrived there.

On the night before the royal caravan planned to leave, Geralt would approach Tyrion as the dwarf was leaving the Great Hall after a short dinner with his family. The dwarf noticed the Witcher, giving a friendly smile and wave while Geralt nodded back. “You’ve been quiet of late. I take Bran’s fall has been troubling for you.” The Lannister remarked.

“It has. Was tutoring Bran in archery and sword fighting. Now the boy may never walk again considering his injury.” Geralt answered back. “Still he’s a tough one like his family. I’m certain he will wake up and find a way in life despite it all.”

Tyrion nodded, a thoughtful look in his eyes. “It is a shame Lord Eddard has to leave him as well to serve in the capital. Personally, I’d curse the King for telling me to go.”

Geralt chuckled at that quite defiant remark. “You are the rebellious type that’s for sure…though I’d probably do the same really.”

Both of them laughed for a moment before Tyrion spoke up again. “Although I take you didn’t come out here to simply joke about our King?”

“Got me there. Decided I’ll be tagging along for that trip to the Wall and Castle Black.” The Witcher answered back. “Feel I need some time away from…well...here. Been cooped up in Winterfell for too long.”

“Surprised you can even stand being stuck in one place for months. You have the look of a man who’s a drifter and thrill seeker to me.” Tyrion commented. 

Geralt shrugged at the remark. “Sort of was back home. Think I moved across the Northern Realms five times over in just one year. Course a long story for another time.”

“I take it that you’re prepared for the trip then?”

“Of course. One of the first rules of being a Witcher is to always be prepared.” He answered back.

“Heh you’ll have to share some tales about your profession. Anyway Jon will be pleased to know you’ll be coming along as well. Perhaps you’ll get one more chance to sway him from joining the Watch.” With that the short Lannister gave a small nod and continued his way back to his room at the Guest House.

With that matter sorted out, all that was left was one more thing to do. Heading for the Great Keep, he’d go to Bran’s room, being silent as near the door. It was partly open to show Catelyn was fast asleep in an armchair, no doubt exhausted after these troubling days. Slipping into the room, he’d near Bran’s bed where the boy laid covered in comfortable sheets and furs.

Geralt shifted the pack he had been carrying it, taking out the boy’s crossbow and bolt quiver. “I wish I had given these to you soon. Maybe would have made a difference, kept you from leaving the keep or protect you somehow.” The Witcher muttered as he’d set the two items on the nightstand next to the bed. However he had one more item to give as he’d pick out a small wooden medallion from the pack. It was shaped similar to his Witcher symbol, although not as sharp or detailed in design. “Knew how badly you wanted to have one. Always noticed how you wanted to wear mine.” Leaning in, he’d put the wooden wolf medallion around Bran’s neck before shifting back to look down at the sleeping boy. “I promise…I’ll make whoever did this pay.” Being silent for a moment, he’d give a small sigh before silently leaving and returned to his room.

…

The Witcher woke up early the next morning, getting dressed in his Wolf armor along with the northern garb he had been given. Grabbing his two swords, crossbow, quiver and alchemy pack, he’d head outside were the last groups of the caravan was readying to leave. He’d find his horse at the post he had left it with Jon and Tyrion gathered with their own mounts. The two noticed and greeted him, which he returned in kind as the three saddled up to ride for the main road. Already the royal caravan was at the crossroads of Winterfell and the King’s Road. Ned and Robert where speaking to each other before the northern lord noticed the group and rode over to them.

“Time for final goodbyes it seems.” Geralt remarked as Ned neared the group. 

“I’ll wait on ahead. I doubt Lord Stark wishes to speak with me and I’d rather not seem intruding.” Tyrion remarked, riding pass the group when Eddard neared.

The Northern Lord looked between Jon and Geralt, giving a faint smile to them both. “You know…I can’t remember the last time I’ve feel such stress.” Ned remarked. “Even in the middle of the Rebellion, the fiercest of battles never pained more then what happened to Bran and the choice of having to leave him here.” Taking a deep breath, the man looked at Geralt. “I’d like to speak with you privately for a moment.”

Geralt nodded before looking to Jon who spoke up. “I’ll wait right here.” 

Ned and the Witcher rode away to be out of earshot from Jon before the Northern Lord slipped off his mount once they stopped. Geralt did the same as the two faced each other. He’d notice Ned holding a wrapped piece of cloth in his hands. 

“In all my years I’ve never met a man as compassionate, dutiful and brave as you Geralt. If anything you put most knights that I’ve known to shame.” Eddard calmly stated.

“Thank you Lord Stark, yet you exaggerate really.” Geralt remarked back with a small smile.

Ned chuckled, shrugging slightly. “Perhaps I am, yet you’ve treated my family as if they were you’re own. You’ve been an inspiration for my sons, daughters and the members of my household in these short few months.” Pausing, he’d have a more serious look in his eyes. “The Starks have never needed a champion for centuries like the other Houses. In the North, we take pride in our strength and self-reliance to protect ourselves and deal with politics personally. 

Ned unwrapped the cloth to reveal a white and grey fur cloak similar to what the Stark family wore. Along it there was a dark metal and leather bracer with the dire wolf symbol carved onto it. “The North is stubborn to change. We’re been steadfast in every age, prideful in our sense of duty and honor. Yet these are troubling times and change must come. That is why Geralt of Rivia I ask you to become the champion of House Stark.”

The declaration surprised Geralt, the reaction showing in his yellow eyes which Ned noticed. The Witcher was silent, unsure of how to respond. “Lord Stark. I’m honored but…I can’t swear fealty to you.” The Witcher formally answered back. “A Witcher isn’t meant to commit to any lord or king. Besides I can’t let such a commitment hinder me.”

“I know that and I expect no oaths to any of the Gods be they the Old or New or whatever you follow in your lands.” Ned quickly responded. “You’re bound to the Starks, my family, is that of friendship and trust. Those are to me are stronger than any vow a man can give.” He’d present the cloak and bracer to Geralt, the Witch silent as he looked at them.

In the end he’d take the bracer, removing his own left one to wear the fine piece which matched well with his current armor. Next he’d take the white and grey cloak, fitting it over his back loosely to not get in the way of his swords. Ned gave a small nod and smile.

“It suits you Geralt. Wear it well for the North.” Eddard complimented.

“Have to admit I’ve never been one for cloaks. Doesn’t work well for Witcher’s work.” Geralt remarked. “Yet I can’t deny it has style to it.”

“That aside, that bracer will show your alliance with us. Show that to any soldier of the North and they will know of your ties with us.” Moving to a pack on his horse, he’d also hand Geralt a bunch of rolled up papers. “Also take these as well.”

Geralt quickly opened the scrolls, one being a fresh map of the Seven Kingdoms while the others were documents. Glancing over them they seem to be writs, regional decrees for supplies, aid and so on.

“Those writs can get you anything you need in a time of need, within reason of course. Use them wisely and keep them safe.” Ned explained as Geralt carefully rolled them up and put them in his saddle pack.

“So how did Robert react to you tell him of making me your House champion?” Geralt questioned.

“Surprisingly pleased. In the end he won’t have to worry about managing you and he sees this as you simply working for me officially…even though it isn’t.” Ned explained. “That aside we have to discuss your travel plans.”

“Right…” Geralt muttered. “With me, Tyrion and Jon, we should arrive at Castle Black in…about over half a week if the weather goes well. Only plan to be there a few days before heading back south. Not sure if Tyrion will tag along or not though but I’ll have enough time to question him about Cersei.”

“Good. From my understanding it will take the royal caravan a bit over two months to get back to King’s Landing. Robert wants to return as quickly as possible despite the difficultly traveling in such a large group. Because of this, we’ll be making plenty of stops along major areas along the King’s Road.” Pausing, Ned nodded to the pack, making Geralt remember the map. Taking it out, the two looked over it as Ned scanned along it. “Here.” He’d point at a major crossroad spot that split in fall fours directions.

“What’s there?” Geralt questioned, noting only a house marking at the spot.

“A famous unnamed inn, although everyone simply calls it the Crossroads Inn.” Ned explained. “When Robert and I lived in the Vale, we’d visit there whenever we traveled the main roads. You won’t find better food or more interesting travelers then there.” Ned explained. “Overall that would be your best chance to rejoin us. If other matters do get in the way though, send a raven there or to the Red Keep.”  
“Sure. Seems we have a solid travel plan set.” Geralt repacked the map, making sure to mark the meeting spot down on it. 

“So until we meet again Geralt.” Ned held one hand out as the two firmly shook hands. “Watch the roads and woods well my friend. Winter is coming.” From what the Witcher knew, the saying was that of vigilance and warning. Ned got back onto his horse before riding back to Jon while the Witcher pulled himself back onto his saddle and riding to where Tyrion was waiting.

“Well well…seems Lord Stark has given you a promotion.” The dwarf chuckled, noting the fine cloak Geralt wore. 

“More of a parting gift. Besides from what I know the far north is cold even in the summer.” Geralt remarked back. The two watched the distant conversation between Ned and Jon, curious on what they were saying. 

However the two heard a horse nearing them or more of a pony when they glanced to the main road. There was Arya, grinning excitedly as she’d hurry her mount over to the two, stopping with a small giggle.

“Didn’t expect your father let you ride on your own.” Geralt chuckled.

“Mother isn’t around to worry. Besides he said I can only ride a bit a day while we travel.” The young girl answered back before looking to her father and half-brother talking. “I’m going to miss Jon. Is he really planning to stay at the Wall?” She asked somberly.

Geralt nodded, giving a sigh. “He’s convicted to join the Night’s Watch. Guess he feels he’ll have a righteous purpose there, a chance to make something of himself by his own hand.”

Arya sighed, unsure what to say. Shifting, she’d grab something behind her pack to reveal a small thin weapon sheath. “Jon gave me this. It’s a sword meant for me.” She’d carefully draw it to show off the thin sword which Geralt considered a cross between a short sword and rapier in design. “I call it Needle. Special swords like this need names after all.”

“I find that a suitable name. Sounds innocent yet hides its deadly nature.” Tyrion commented, making Arya chuckle.

“Heh it be a fitting weapon for you ‘Imp’. About the right size for you too.” Arya chuckled, yet was playful with the dwarfs so called ‘title’ to not sound rude. 

“Alas I’m not a fighter. Words and wit are my sword and shield.” He answered back in a grandiose manner, making Arya smirk.

“So now that I have a sword can you teach me how to fight?” Arya quickly asked Geralt, an eager gleam in her eyes.

“Huh…not too sure about that.” He started yet the young Stark gave that puppy dog stare, making him grumble. “Alright maybe…so long as you get your father’s permission. You have a long road ahead, so plenty of time to do so.” 

Arya beamed, nodding quickly as he’d tuck her sword away once more. “Thank you! Bet dad will agree, I know it!” With that she’d wave to both Geralt and Tyrion, giving a cute smile to the two. “Enjoy seeing the Wall…try not to get lost alright!” She’d then ride off back for the caravan as both waved goodbye.

“A lively girl. So different from her older sister.” Tyrion remarked.

“Yah…classic tomboy like Ciri.” Geralt muttered in agreement before noticing Jon and Ned had finished their conversation. The two went their separate ways, Ned following his young daughter back to the caravan while Jon returned his companions.

Nearing, Jon had thoughtful look across his face and remained silent once he stopped before the others. They’d look at the young man curiously, expecting some big reveal from him. “Right…shall we get going then?” Jon simply asked. 

Tyrion gave a surprised look after hearing that. “Wait…you just talked to your father for possibly the last time…and you have nothing to share with us?” The dwarf questioned.

Jon kept a passive look for a moment before nodding. “Yah…we just said our goodbyes.” He answered back bluntly.

“So no secret reveals? No truth of your mother or…or maybe he’s not your father!” Tyrion teased, making Jon growl lowly in annoyance. “That be a fascinated twist to any story yes?” The dwarf asked Geralt.

“A bit clichéd if you ask me.” Geralt replied back before shaking his head. “Look, stop pestering Jon. Whatever they discussed it’s between them alone. He can tell us what was said when he feels like it.”

The young man was silent, yet gave a short nod of thanks to Geralt while Tyrion gave a small sigh of disappointment. “I do hate cliff hangers you know.” He muttered before looking northward. “Anyway enough chatter. We have a good ride for the Wall and I want to get there as soon as possible.” Before anyone could react, the dwarf had his small horse galloping forward, making the two hurry along to follow after. Jon cracked a small smile chasing after the dwarf, Geralt smirking as everyone focused on the journey ahead.

…

The first few days were calm and peaceful for the three, riding through beautiful woodlands and plains. They did stop in a few nearby villages for warm food and soft beds, yet soon any hint of civilization was completely lost to unending wilderness on the third day of traveling. Along the way Tyrion constantly chatted with the two, questioning Geralt the most about his travels and what his home country was like. He’d share the same tale like he had with most people and mainly discus the many unique kingdoms that made up his world. The mention of the Nilfgaard Empire had Tyrion very curious, considering the Empire’s proactive researching and modernization…even if it was through strict and sometimes brutal control.

“They sound like world conquerors for sure. A war between the Seven Kingdoms and Nilfgaard be quite an epic I’d say.” The dwarf commented to Geralt.

“Rather avoid that. Besides, the Empire is big enough as it is.” The Witcher commented.

The third night, the group made camp off the side of the road. The clearing was fitting enough for sizable camp fire and setting up their bedrolls for sleeping. Lucky the two had Geralt to help around as the Witcher easily got some rabbits for dinner and showed Jon a few skinned tricks. Tyrion would casually watch while reading one of a few books he had packed for himself. Soon everyone was sitting around the fire, each eating a piece of rabbit on a stick silently.

“So Witcher…I think it’s time you share some monster stories with us.” Tyrion asked after finishing his meal.

“Last time I mentioned such things you seemed dubious at best. Then again we were half under from all the drinking.” Geralt remarked back.

Tyrion chuckled, rolling his eyes a bit in amusement. “Considering the tales of dragons and the many exotic beasts that exist across the Narrow Sea…well…perhaps your land’s beasts are not so far-fetched.”

Jon gave a small shrug and nod as he’d finish up his rabbit. “He has a point there. Doubt you have anything that can top that.”

“Fine…” He debated on telling them that he did face a dragon once, although decided not to do that just yet. He’d probably be confusing them more than anything. “Alright then, I’ll tell you the one that got me pretty well known among the Northern Realms. Started off when following an old contract dating seven years back in the Kingdom of Temeria involving the cursed daughter of a king being a Striga.”

Geralt detailed the wild story of how King Foltest’s unborn daughter had been cursed by a spiteful noble seeking revenge for the taboo marriage between the King and his sister, who the noble had desired. Of course he kept those details short and simple, focusing more on detailing the fierce and deadly Striga along with the fact that Foltest was desperate to find some way to reverse the curse. Removing the curse sounded simple, keep the creature from its sarcophagus until dawn. The problem…survive the night. A small army of mystics, knights, adventurers, fools and other Witchers had all tried only to flee or die in the attempt.

The Witcher shared the deadly night he faced the beast, fighting in with the halls of an abandoned palace. He told the two about how the noble who made the curse had come and became handy bait in the end, even if it lead to a gruesome end for him. When the battle itself began, he’d detail every step and move he did…well...nearly everything as he excluded his use of Signs. In the end he’d trick the Striga into fleeing and sneaked into its tomb, sealing himself in its own sarcophagus for the rest of the long night. Then came the finale of the grand tale.

“So did it work?” Jon asked, excited after everything he heard.

Geralt nodded. “When I crawled out of that tomb there was no Striga but a fourteen year old girl. She was thin and looked like she had been through hell, yet human enough. Had to get close to examine her and…well…” He’d rub the back of his head, glancing away slightly. “…she still was partly monstrous and surprised me, sliced my neck with her lingering claws.”

Both of his companions gave surprised look, yet Tyrion gave an amused chuckle. “Wait, you battled a fierce beast throughout a night unscathed, yet a young girl gets the jump on you?” The dwarf questioned.

Sighing, Geralt suddenly tugged the collar of his cloak and leather jacket along with the plain shirt he had aside. His neck was exposed and despite all the skilled healing he had gotten that scar over his jugular remained. “Wound like this kill most men. Lucky I pulled back just enough to avoid getting my throat slit.” He calmly stated.

Tyrion had a nervous look, lightly rubbing his own neck at the thought. “Point taken.”

“In the end I subdued her, then passed out from the bleeding and exhaustion. Foltest’s men found me and her. Took us both back to the new palace where I was passed out for two days to recover. Took another two days before I was strong enough to leave, though in the end I rode off with three thousand orens and the high praise of a king.” He’d give a small sigh though. “Still didn’t mean people tried to cheat and rob me at every turn though after that.”

The dwarf chuckled at that remark. “The more fame you have, the more people will recognize you.”

Geralt nodded in agreement yet became oddly silent and had a distant look in his cat like eyes. For a moment Jon and Tyrion looked at the Witcher with a questioning looks, unsure what was going on. “Geralt?” Jon spoke up, shifting up in his seat slightly.

However Geralt didn’t even glance at Jon, yet one hand shifted slowly toward his blades set beside him. Tyrion gulped nervously as his gaze shifted to the dark woodlands, his mind still fresh with the terrible tale of the Striga. Jon kept calm as he too reached for his long sword cautiously. He knew Geralt noticed something he or Tyrion couldn’t that was considered dangerous. For a long moment the only sounds were the crackle of the camp fire, the creak of the surrounding woods and Tyrion heavy breathing.

Suddenly there was a snap and in an instant Geralt moved, steel sword drawn out as he suddenly rushed at Tyrion. The dwarf yelled in surprise before the air rang out as the Withcer’s sword hit something out of the air. It took a moment for Tyrion to process what had just happened as he’d glance to his side, seeing an arrow clatter down onto his lap. “He…he deflected an arrow?!” He spoke out in shock. Even Jon was shocked at what just happened, his sharper eyes having seen what just happened.

Soon there were yells as figures charged the camp from the darkness, familiar ones for Geralt as he’d recognize the rough leather and fur outfits of Wildlings. “Wildling! Watch our flank Jon! Don’t hesitate because they won’t! Tyrion stay low and get my crossbow!” He ordered before another arrow flew right at him, yet with ease he deflected it out into the darkness, drawing a pained cry as it hint one of the charging attackers.

“He did it again!” Tyrion yelled out in disbelief before another arrow struck at the nearby tree, making him yelp in shock. He’d quickly throw himself to the ground to avoid any more arrows while the Wildlings rushed in. There was at least eight of them counting the one archer hanging back. The leader of the group was a towering bald man with ritualistic scar marks along his face, wielding a fine steel battle axe. He had an arrow to the side, the one Geralt had deflected, which the savage pull out and snapped with one hand. 

“White haired one…” He growled in a deep voice while the rest of his Wildling raiders rushed in.

Geralt smirked, a thrilled look in his yellow eyes to at last have a real fight on his hands. Glancing to Jon, the young man had a serious look about him yet seemed ready for this moment. Quickly two Wildlings faced off against the Witcher, broadly swinging their worn weapons at him. They lacked any real tactic or pattern of attack, leaving their defenses low. For once he didn’t have to hold back as he’d parry one blow, guiding the weapon aside while twisting about to dodge the other Wildling’s attack. 

The savage he dodged howled as Geralt sword cut across his back, knocking him down, twitching as his spine can be severed with one clean blow. “Bastard!” The other yelled as he’d lunge in to strike directly at Geralt who simply stepped back and blocked a follow up attack. Quickly one foot kicked the Wildling in the gut, knocking the wind out of him before being thrown onto his back. Flowing with his movements, Geralt spun his blade about before stabbing down right into the man’s heart who gave such a shocked gurgled cry before being still. He’d withdraw his blade of the man’s chest, spinning it about to flick the blood off the blade and across the ground.

Glancing back, the Witcher saw Jon facing against two Wildlings of his own, handling them with ease. He avoiding blocking excessively, relying more on footwork to avoid their wide attacks and counter at their side or flank. One got stabbed cleanly through the side, gasping out before Jon withdrew his blade and spinning about to block a high blow from the other Wildling. He’d shift and twist their locked weapons, deftly disarming the raider in one smooth motion before slashing upward cross his chest, leaving a deep lethal wound.

During all of this, Tyrion was scrambling for Geralt’s pack and quickly grabbed the one-hand crossbow which was already loaded. One of the Wildlings saw the dwarf in on the ground, seeing him as easy pickings as he’d close in. The dwarf quite panicking with the battle happening around him quickly aimed the crossbow before firing, striking right into the raider’s chest and halting his charge. Growling at the pain while Tyrion quickly reloaded to fire another shot close by the last bolt before the man dropped to the ground dead.

All that was left was the archer, the axe wielding leader and one nervous young Wildling. Geralt eyed the three, the archer and other raider openly nervous as the Witcher and Stark had beaten multiple people at once. The Witcher eyed the three, yet noticed the scarred man had a wild look in his eyes.

“You dance as if the blade was part of you.” He chuckled, voice deep and gravely. “I thought the south be full of soft people…yet you are different.” The man saw Geralt’s yellow catlike eyes and grinned. “Yes. You feel the thrill like the half-beast you are. The bloodlust of killing another without mercy. You’ve done this countless times.”

Geralt didn’t shift his tense stance as the Wildling leader laughed out at that fierce stare. “One chance to back off. Crawl back into the woods and huddle in some far-off corner. You got over the Wall somehow…best try to enjoy that freedom while you can live.” He coldly threatened the warrior.

“A Thenn doesn’t run or cower Southern.” He’d grasp his axe in both hands, spinning the massive weapon about with agile skill. “We are the true First Men. These lands belong to us and we claim it or die trying!” 

Geralt spun his blade about in his grip, stance low as he stared the Thenn down. “That can be arranged.” He muttered before noticing Jon standing ready to fight. “Stay out of his Jon.”

“He’s a Thenn, Geralt. Few men can fight one alone.” Jon warned as the tall warrior slowly stepped closer. 

“Lucky I’m not like most men. Guard Tyrion, the other two don’t seem to be backing down either.” Geralt answered back, not looking away from the axe swinging warrior.

The Thenn was pleased that the Witcher planned to face him one on one, grinning eagerly. “Kill the others. If you dare get in our way, I’ll cut you down myself!” He threatened he’d move in, axe raised to his side to attack.

Both the Thenn and Geralt moved at each other, that fine axe slashing out in an upward swing. Geralt side stepped and lashed out with a switch slash for the man’s side, yet the savage twisted the axe about to block the blow with the long metal shaft of his weapon. Both twisted away from each other, grasping their weapons in both hands as they ended up in a powerful clash.

While the two battled, Jon focused on the last Wildling who looked little more than his age. “Don’t have to do this…” He pleaded as they circled each other.

“It’s you or me in the end.” The raider muttered somberly before giving a yell before attacking.

The Wildling left himself open with his charge as Jon lunged in, sword striking across the man’s belly while avoiding the raider’s overhead swing. The man staggered and coughed up blood before slumping forward to the ground. However when Jon looked up, he saw the Wildling archer aimed right at him, smirking for a moment before suddenly getting a bolt through the side of his skull. Jon quickly look to the side were Tyrion had snuck off, crossbow lowering as he’d look over to the Stark.

Meanwhile Geralt’s and Thann’s duel was reaching its critical point. The Wildling raider was panting as Geralt’s superhuman speed was fully shown as the warrior could barely react fast enough to block such quick constant blows. His own counter attacks were becoming slower and slower until the Witcher shifted back. The man panted deeply, catching his breath while Geralt hardly seemed to breathe. 

“Just what are you…?” The Thann gasped, growling in frustration. “No one can move that fast…”

Geralt didn’t answer at first as again he tensed for another attack. “Any last words?”

For a moment the Thann was silent, tightly gripping his weapon and glance at his dead raiders. “In the end this changes nothing. There will be more of us…and when we fall we’ll rise again. We all will."

Geralt gave a questioning look at the Wildling’s statement. “What do you mean?”

Chuckling, the Thann took a deep breath as he’d ready his axe again. “You will see in time White Wolf. The Long Night comes, and everyone will brave its horrors when even your Wall falls.” 

With that the Wildling roared a battle cry before spinning his axe about, swinging high and low attacks to force Geralt back. The Witcher back pedaled those attacks, getting an idea of the timing before he’d suddenly rush forward. He’d do a partial slide under the incoming slash before twisting about, sword cutting upward at the Thann’s exposed left arm. What followed was a howl of pain and the gush of blood as Geralt cut his arm at the forearm with a clean cut. Despite the pain, the Wildling gripping his large weapon with his right hand as his rage drove him on. He’d swing out yet the Witcher simply stopped the attack as his free hand grabbed the shaft of the large axe. Forcing the weapon blade down to the ground, he’d lash out as he’d then cut the other arm off, drawing even more pained cries from the warrior. Jon and Tyrion stood there in shock, yet Geralt was focused on finishing this. His bloody blade was at the warrior’s neck as the Thann dropped to his knees panting and howling in pain, though giving a mad grin in the end.

“Glorious!” He laughed out before Geralt pulled his blade back and decapitated him, his bald head tumbling away into the darkness. That grin remained on his face even in death while the body slumped to its side.

Calmly Geralt looked to Tyrion and Jon, both too shocked to react. Taking a deep breath, he’d clean his blade off the dead Thann before moving to the two.

“Gods Geralt that was…a bit excessive…” Tyrion muttered. 

“Got caught up in the fight…didn’t want to take any chances as well.” Geralt answered back. “Besides, I have a feeling he’d have done much worse to us.”

Jon nodded, calming down from the fighting. “Thann’s are said to be cannibals from what I heard. Few of the other Wildlings tribes like them because of that.”

“Ah…that is a fair point then.” The dwarf muttered before moving to Geralt who’d moved to sheath his blade. “I guess I now see why your swordsmanship is so renowned. Never seen anyone, not even Jaime move so fast before.” Pausing, he’d glance at the stop where he had been sitting during the ambush. “Still…how did you block an arrow like that, much less one from an unseen attacker? Tyrion questioned.

“Let’s just say it took a lot of practice to do that. Involves a lot of timing and reflexes as well.” He simply said.

“Well it’s a trick that saved my life which I am grateful for.” Tyrion said thankfully before handing the Witcher’s Crossbow back. “Same thanks to your crossbow as well. I’ve practiced my share of archery, yet your crossbow’s design let me shoot in mere seconds.”

“It is one of a kind.” Geralt remarked before packing the weapon away. “Still requires a good aim to be useful which you lucky have.” Packing the weapon aside, Geralt continued to pack away his belongings. “Anyway, we should move on. More Wildlings lurking or the blood may draw predators. Besides, doubt we should sleep with corpses around.”

“So much for a calm trip.” Jon muttered before looking to the fallen axe of the Thann. “Wait, we should take some proof back to Castle Black. This is the second raiding party within months, this could be what we need to convince the King send more aid to the Night’s Watch!”

Geralt paused as he’d think for a moment. Indeed Jon had a good point, since in total that made twenty Wildlings having come over the Wall. Who knew how many more were slipping past the massive barrier, taking advantage of the fact that much of the Wall was unmanned. With so much open space between the different Holdings, these raiders could easily pillage the isolated towns, build up their strength and numbers over time. “Fair point. At the least this is worth showing the Commander at Castle Black as well.” 

Moving to the fallen weapon, Geralt got a closer look at the weapon. It was nothing like the crude or stolen weapons the other Wildlings had, being a master crafted weapon with interesting yet non-magical runes. Jon noticed Geralt curious interest in the weapon. “The Thann’s are said to be one of the most powerful tribes beyond the Wall. Despite their fierce nature and…eating habits, they have access to forges and skilled smiths unlike the other tribes.”

“Interesting…anyway let’s move. An hour’s ride should distance us far enough from here.”

Tyrion sighed hearing this. “Here I thought we’ve have a restful night…”

The group hurried off down the dark road, torches out to light the way. Jon glanced at Geralt, seeing how unfazed the man was after that sudden ambush. True he knew well how Geralt fought after their many sparring matches and lessons yet against the Wildlings he showed only cold ruthlessness. Plus the way he executed the raid leader had him sick to the gut deep down. After a while, he’d ride up close to the Witcher and spoke in a hushed voice.

“So how do you do it…just…killing others with such ease? The way you fought and looked it wasn’t like anything I’ve seen in any of the sparring matches.”

Geralt gave a side way’s glance to the young man, seeing the tense look in those eyes. “There is a difference between a sparring lesson and real battle. There is no chatter, no joking or second tries…you let your guard down and you’ll die.” Letting those blunt words sink in, he’d continue to speak. “For me, time and exposure is how I’ve come to accept killing. Second guessing doesn’t change who lived and died.”

“I know that…I’m not regretting having to kill them!” Jon quickly muttered back.

“And I’m not suggesting that. If anything you handled yourself well. Kept your composure and didn’t hesitate. I’ve seen more talented warriors do that too often and pay for it.” The Witcher calmly stated.

Jon sighed as he’d be silent for a moment. “It was the last one who got to me. He seemed my age by the looks of it. His eyes had such…a desperate look to them, makes me wonder just what made them brave the Wall to come here.”

Geralt too wondered. What the Thann mentioned had him thinking of theories, mainly that of the White Walkers. Sure the lands beyond the Wall were harsh, yet records showed possibly a million or more people lived beyond it despite the hostile environment. Something new and threatening was forcing the Wildlings to flee. “In the end their human. They maybe savage from our point of view yet share the same emotions and fears we have.”

The young man though kept silent before nodding his head, sighing as he’d slow down as he’d glance at a clearing nearby. “Let’s stop. We should be far enough by now.” He calmly stated, not giving a true reaction to the Witcher’s words.

Indeed they had traveled far, Geralt realizing their conversation had been distracting him. Tyrion seemed nearly ready to doze off in his saddle, snapping to attention when he realized they stopped. In the end he nodded in agreement as he’d quickly get the area cleared for their hasty camp. With bedrolls laid out, Jon and Tyrion were quick to fall asleep, exhausted from the traveling and ambush. Geralt though remained vigilant as he’d shift to sit on his knees and enter mediation, resting his mind and body yet keeping his senses sharp for any more surprises.

…

However something tugged at his mind, drawing him away from clearing he rested in. His surroundings were that of a frozen wasteland, much like the dead world he had visited with Avallac'h. A fierce snow storm shrouded his surroundings, yet his sharp eyes could just see movement ahead along with hearing the sound of clanging weapons. A familiar and fierce yell was heard, a female voice that he recognized.

“CIRI!” He yelled out over the howling winds as he’d draw his silver blade and forcing through the pushing wind. Nearing the sounds of battle, he could see the shadow of Ciri moving about, her warping abilities having her appear and reappear in a flash. A crown horned figure battled her, moving inhumanly fast and seemingly predicting where she’d teleport to attack. 

Nearing the scene of the fight, the horned figure suddenly had one hand reach out, grabbing Ciri by the throat as she phased into existence. She’d howl out despite the grip of the figure not even tensing, as if she was being burned…no freezing. Yet despite the pain she still had focus and desire to survive. Suddenly she faded, perhaps in desperation or a natural reaction in her Elder Blood to preserve her. The figure seemed confused, staring at the empty air silently for a long moment. At this point Geralt saw the figure’s piercing bright blue eyes, a glowing gaze that was empty and devoid of emotion. The figure seemingly saw Geralt, the eyes not even blinking as it suddenly flexed his hand at him. A gush of wind blew at Geralt, flinging him away like a ragdoll and into cold nothingness.

He struggled and yelled in the howling wind, trying to fight…struggle…find some way to that cursed creature. Yet despite the deafening sound of the wind, a single echoing caw of a raven could be heard. Then he saw it, a massive black raven flying toward him, it’s head low to reveal a third eye on its forehead. Its clawed feet reached for him, yet when then closed around his form everything went dark.

…

Snapping his eyes open, Geralt gasped and nearly bolted up to his feet, one hand going for his swords. Yet he’d see the surprised faces of Tyrion and Jon, the two stepping back as they had been watching the Witcher closely.

“Gods man…for a moment thought we’d have to slap you awake.” Tyrion remarked while Geralt quickly moved his hand away from his swords.

Jon nodded, stepping closer to Geralt to offer a hand to help him stand fully up. “What was wrong…some nightmare?” 

Geralt firmly took the offered hand, letting Jon help him up. “Sort of…not sure what it was about.” He muttered.

“Most dreams often make no sense.” Tyrion commented with a shrug. “Still you seemed ready to fight…had us worried you’d start lashing out.”

The Witcher couldn’t help but smirk at the remark, thinking back to how he had gotten visions of his past when he lost his memory or the nightmares he had of the Wild Hunt tormenting him or his friends. Was this vision similar…or some distant warning of some kind? Shaking his head, he’d move to pick up his swords and cloak, fitting both across his back. “Anyway I’m awake now.” Glancing at the sky, he’d realize it was late morning as well. “Should have left sooner. No matter should get to Castle Black by the evening from my guess.” He’d already gather his pack, trying to hurry along before the two questioned him about what he had dreamed.

Soon the three were saddled up and back on the King’s Road heading northward once more. For a long while no one spoke as they’d soon enter the region called The Gift. The hilly plains were lush and green despite the chilly conditions, fitting land for farming this far north. From what Geralt read, the early Stark family gave this territory to the Night’s Watch as a source of resources and food. A few villages filled this area who supplied Castle Black, yet support was low considering the Night’s Watch small numbers.

Jon was riding ahead, eager to see the Wall and Castle Black. Tyrion kept riding at a slow stroll, a perfect chance to talk privately with the dwarf. Riding alongside the Lannister, Tyrion gave a curious look towards the Witcher. “I take you wish to discuss something?”

“A private matter, one I hope you can keep to yourself.” Geralt answered back.

Tyrion paused for a moment before shrugging. “Lucky I’m good at keeping secrets…very well…ask away

“It’s about Bran. His fall wasn’t an accident. There were two others else at that tower, one of them being your sister.” The Witcher calmly explained.

The dwarf had an odd look in his eyes, a mix of curiosity yet worry. “And you have proof?”

“Just sample of long golden hair. There is only one woman who has that and that be Lady Cersei.”

“Are you accusing her of having pushed young Bran off that tower?” Tyrion questioned.

“Not yet, though her male companion may have done so.” Geralt quickly explained. “At best she is a witness to an attempted murder. Worse, she ordered it to happen.”

“Then I’ll just have to accept your judgement on that matter. I take then you expect me to know of her…companion at the tower.”

Geralt nodded calmly. “I don’t care about her love habits or the fact of infidelity. Robert obviously does that as well. Point is do you know who she could have been with?”

Tyrion was silent, yet he’d smirk in amusement. “If anything it’s obvious considering. Haven’t heard the rumors about my sister have you?”

“Gossip isn’t on the top of my list during conversations. Besides I don’t know much about what goes on in the capital.”

“Ah…a fair point.” The dwarf muttered with a shrug. “Many people claim my sister has many lovers, yet the most shameful of claims is that she sleeps with our brother Jaime.” He had a small smirk on his lips. “The two were always close. I remember the story of how Jaime rushed off to join the King’s Guard after Cersei was sent off to the capital…can’t remember what for, perhaps all part of father’s plan to marry into the Targaryen’s.”

“Yet is it true?” Geralt calmly asked  
.  
“As I said a rumor.” Yet the dwarf had a knowing look to his eyes, a subtle hint of course.

“Can’t exactly report to the Starks on a slanderous rumor. Come on Tyrion, surely you know more.” Geralt argued. “I saved your life last night and from my understanding, ‘Lannister’s always pay their debts’.”

Tyrion grumbled at the mention of his family moto. “And we do Witcher.” He muttered. “Hypothetically what would you do if Jaime and Cersei had been in that tower…and that my brother happened to push Bran out that window?”

Geralt locked eyes with the dwarf, an intense in that yellow cat like gaze. “Debating if I’d break his legs in return or drag him to Eddard to be judged.” 

Tyrion was silent before giving a small sigh. “Well at least you’re honest.” Chuckling, he’d glance away. “Again this is just rumors and guesses Geralt. Don’t think I’m defending my family, because in the end I don’t know who could have been at the tower at that moment. I only have your word to follow up on.” Yet after a moment’s silence, he’d speak up. “However I can help. Jaime trusts me and in the end I can draw the truth from him. Be it that he committed the act or Cersei confided on what happened, he may just share the truth…or at least betray a lie.”

“You’d be willing to do that, interrogate your own family, your own brother?” Geralt muttered, curious at the dwarf’s offer. “How do I know you won’t warn him or somehow lie to me in return?”

Tyrion laughed lightly at the remark. “And risk angering you? I’d rather not wish your wrath Witcher considering what you’ve shown. You a far better friend then an enemy.”

The compliment at the end was surprisingly to hear, making Geralt give a small smile. “I am sorry about being blunt on the matter. I owe the Starks for their kindness and Bran…he deserves justice.”

The dwarf nodded slightly, a thoughtful look in his eyes, no doubt thinking of the few encounters he had with the boy. “I understand that. He seemed fond of you after all, almost like a second father like Jon.”

“Heh…never thought anyone call me a good father figure.” Geralt chuckled.

“I maybe whore chaser and wine horder, yet I always pride myself in judging one’s true character.” Tyrion boasted before Jon called out.

“Hurry up you two! I can see it!” The young man was at the top of the next hill, waving for the two.

Tyrion smirked as he’d have his pony hurry forward in a mock race with Geralt. The Witcher easily caught as both of them rejoined Jon. The view was breath taking indeed even for Geralt who had seen much in his century of living. He had visited the great capitals of his world, seen the natural wonders of kingdoms and explored the aged ruins of the past. Yet the Wall, it was something different.

The vast mass of ice and rock stretched out for miles on end, beyond the horizon even to the distant seas it linked to. From his studies he knew the Wall stretched three hundred miles between to the Bay of Ice and Bay of Seals. Its height was over seven hundred feet tall and the top wide enough for a troop of riders to go across like a road. Indeed, he doubted anything like this could exist in his world, even with all the grand powers the elves and sorceresses had under their control.

“Amazing…” He stated before glancing at the others to see their own looks of wonder.

“It is. You read and hear so much of it yet never truly understand its scale until you see it.” Tyrion added.

“Aye. Makes you wonder just what it guards us from too. Has to be something more than just Wildlings.” Jon muttered as his gaze shifting to a black structure at the base of the Wall and where the King’s Road ended, Castle Black itself. “Let’s hurry on now.” Already Jon was off, Geralt quickly following while Tyrion fumbled with his reins to give chase as they all neared the vast shadow of the Wall.

…


	10. Season 1 - Episode 9: Witcher on the Wall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arriving at the Wall and Castle Black, Geralt see's just how dire things are for the Night's Watch. New friendships and alliances are made, yet a dark threat is soon revealed.

**Chapter Nine: Witcher on the Wall**

**…**

The Wall loomed over the trio, making Geralt realize just how tall the icy barrier was. Yet as they neared the black fortress, he’d feel the medallion quiver and shake around his neck. Staring up to the peak of the Wall, he knew that this thing was truly made from magic. It made sense since he doubted the First Men could have made this on their own, not even after thousand years of work. By the time they were nearing the walls of the castle, he had to grip the medallion as it rattled intensely, trying to ease the trinket reaction.

Castle Black itself was an old structure, dating back to the building of the Wall itself. The black stoned fortifications looked fitting for that claim, the place seeming to be in a constant state of reconstruction from what Geralt could tell. It showed how the Watch could barely maintain their base of operations with the limited work force of unskilled recruits and lacking supplies. Yet he could tell this castle was tougher then it looked and that it wouldn’t yield easily.

The trio neared the heavy wooden gates which opened up from within as the guards called out their arrival. With the way open, the group could see into the large yard of the fortress, filled with recruits who were busy being trained and drilled. The gathered men were a mix of ages, yet mostly young to middle age from Geralt’s estimates. They were dressed in the black leather uniforms of the Watch, simple garb that marked their low rank as recruits. The few rangers that drilled them wore studded leather armor and had impressive black cloaks, the design having raven feathered look to it.

The Witcher took his time examining the court yard, noting the surrounding walls all connected in one large walkway. There were only a few stairways or ramps up to this walkway, yet overall the design offered plenty of distance for archers to pick off attackers. At the far end was a platform that viewed over the yard and lead to a towering wooden structure, a lift that went up to the top of the Wall. At the stage, two men watched the group arrive. Geralt recognized one being Benjen Stark, Ned’s last surviving brother who had joined the Night’s Watch before the Rebellion. Beside him was an older man, with short white hair and beard which was quite well kept. The outfit he wore was the finest set of leather armor and cloak out of the group, a show of his commander rank. His sharp eyes scanned the yard and before focusing over the trio. Benjen leaned in to speak with the commander, who nodded and said something back.

By now Geralt’s group would stop at the stables to store their horses while the Benjen and the Lord Commander Commander approached them. The First Ranger smiled as he looked to Jon. “Good to see you here Jon. I take the ride wasn’t too rough?”

Jon chuckled, sharing a short hug with his uncle. “Can say we had some trouble on the road…although it be better if Geralt explained.” He answered back.

“I think some introductions are at least needed.” The old commander muttered. “Jeor Mormont, Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch.”

“Geralt of Riva. Witcher.”

“Tyrion Lannister. Lord Tywin’s second born son.”

Both were formal, noting the Lord Commander’s judging look as he eyed the dwarf and mutant. “Didn’t expect for a Lannister to grace us. I thought all care for the Watch has been forgotten in the capital…well…besides being a dumping ground for the unwanted.” Jeor gruffly remarked.

“Thankfully I know the importance of the Watch. Besides recent events have me interested in getting the Night’s Watch the aid it needs.” Tyrion answered back. Geralt didn’t expect the dwarf to suddenly show such interest, yet the events of last night attack was no doubt fresh in the noble’s mind.

Jeor nodded. “Good to see someone at least care.” Looking to Geralt, he’d step up close to stare right into those yellow cat like eyes. “Heh…when I heard they pulled you out of the woods, I didn’t expect your description to be true. Pale as a ghost and having eyes of a beast.”

“Not going to be an issue is it?” Geralt questioned back calmly.

After a moment Jeor smirked and shook his head. “Considering how you deal with Wildlings and have the favor of Lord Stark, I feel your trustworthy. That aside though, care to tell me what happened during your trip here?”

Geralt nodded to his horse and to the wrapped up axe he had on the side of the saddle. Tugging the cloth back to reveal the fine steel axe, making Benjen and Jeor give surprised looks seeing the Thann weapon. The Lord Commander had an intense look in his eyes, not looking away from the weapon as he spoke. “Where and when?”

“Day south by the King’s Road. Eight in total.” Geralt answered in a low voice. “None of them got away. Jon even killed three of them by himself.”

Jeor looked to the young man, making Jon glance slightly as if expecting the Lord Commander to be looking at someone else. “When news of that first raiding group was heard, we thought it was a fluke. Just a group that were mad enough to climb the far eastern end of the Wall. Now a second group in just two months…either their planning something or desperate.” The commander muttered.

“More reason that you let me go beyond the Wall. Let me and my men scout the populated regions. If the Wildlings tribes are active and rumors of a new King…” He started before Jeor raised a hand to silence him.

“A matter to discus in later and in private.” The Commander muttered before looking to Jon. “Besides, your nephew needs he be settled in first. Fresh uniform and cloak be a good start.”

Benjen looked to Jon, giving a small nod. “Of course.”

The young man looked to Geralt and Tyrion. “Guess I’ll see you two later.” Benjen placed a hand on Jon’s shoulder, guiding him towards the Keep for his new uniform.

Tyrion and Geralt watched them walk away before focusing back on Jeor. “Best we speak privately in my office. This way please.” The two followed the Lord Commander across the yard for the keep, yet moved up to the second level from a set of stairs. Entering the structure, they’d move down one hallway and through a heavy wooden door, leaving to a large office and study with a sleeping space set off to the side. Jeor moved to hang his cloak up before moving to his seat behind the large black wood desk, giving a tired sigh as he sat back. “Make yourself comfortable.” 

The two got their cloaks off and moved to take the seats set before the desk. Geralt took the time to look around the room, noting the maps and charts along one wall that detailed the different Wildlings tribes and their territory. One map showed the Wall itself, detailing patrols and stations, which was all focused on or around Castle Black. There were many other castles and forts along the Wall, yet from what Geralt knew, they were abandoned or were barely maintained now. “Seems the talk of your group being undermanned seems true.”

“Guh…you don’t know the half of it. Recruits we get are too few and incompetent. Our gear has become second hand at best. Food and supplies have been at least steady for now. As for the castle, it’s worn yet holding together.” Jeor rubbed the sides of his head, obviously frustrated with the long list of problems he detailed. “Most of these men don’t want to be here. Yet in the end I do my best to care and discipline them, try to straighten them out into more honest lives. 

“An honorable endeavor. Of course that doesn’t change the Watch’s dire situation.” Tyrion commented, making the Commander nodded in agreement.

“Which is where you two come in. Both of you have some say towards the other nobility who can support the Watch. We need real masons to get the castle fully repaired, new siege weapons on the Wall, expert trainers and able-bodied men. With these Wildlings sightings beyond the Wall, they can’t ignore such requests.” Jeor remarked back. 

“So what was it you and Benjen discussed? He mentioned a King or something.” Geralt questioned. “From what I read there have been times when the Wildlings have taken a ‘King’, an elected leader who usually unites the tribes under his cause.

Jeor chuckled at the Witcher’s deduction. “You did your research well. Yes, we’ve heard rumors of a new King-Beyond-the-Wall. Every era a new one rises up and rallies the Wildlings tribes in an effort to get through the Wall. Yet we have no name for this new ‘King’ nor any idea of his plans. Only that the Wildlings are on the move…and fast. Something is forcing them more south and working together despite all their differences.”

Geralt was silent, already thinking at the causes. He remembered the Thann’s remark about what would come to all who died along with the dream vision he had. Did Ciri’s battle with that crown horned creature cause something to happen in the far north? “I take you have a plan then to learn more about what the Wildlings are doing then?”

“Yes. Benjen is planning to do scouting with his most skilled Rangers and head into deeper territory. Meanwhile I’ll be taking new recruits beyond the Wall for patrols. If Wildlings are making moves towards the Wall, we’ll know for sure and then take measures to counter them.” Jeor calmly stated.

“Seems you have it all planned out. In that case the best I can do is begin working on a message for King’s Landing to inform the King and Queen of you request.” Tyrion formally stated. “For now, a hot meal and warm bed is needed.”

“Of course Lord Tyrion. Just speak to one of the stewards and they’ll sort out your accommodations.” Jeor answered back.

Tyrion have a small smile and nod. “Thank you Commander. Anyway until next time gentlemen.” The dwarf moved for the door out, leaving the office.

Geralt thought over what to say as he looked back at Jeor who quickly reviewed over some logs. “Tyrion may seem like an odd fellow, yet he means what he says. Last night’s encounter with the Wildlings rattled him.”

“Doubt the man been in a real fight before. Don’t blame him, most don’t seek it.” Jeor muttered.

“Didn’t stop him from putting a few bolts into the raiders.”

Jeor glanced up with a small smirk. “Seems it true that you shouldn’t underestimate anyone, eve a dwarf. That aside though, I take you have some other matters to share with me.”

“Guess be best to get to the point.” Geralt answered. “Has there been anything odd events over the last two months? Strange weather, odd sounds or the like from beyond the Wall?”

The Lord Commander thought for a moment before nodding. “Aye. About that time we had a fierce storm surged up from the north. We thought winter was deciding to rush in early. Nearly sent a raven out to the Maesters in New Town of the news. I had half the men on the Wall to watch out for any surprise attacks or movements from the Wildling. Yet never in all my years here did I hear such sounds…almost as if the land beyond was howling in rage.”

It all seemed exactly like what Geralt had seen in his vision, showing that Ciri’s fight must have happened and the creature she battled having created that storm. “I need to go beyond the Wall then.” He calmly stated.

“How far?” Jeor asked curiously. 

“As far and wide as I need to. There is someone I’m looking for, someone who is close and dear to me. My adopted daughter.” Geralt started. He’d go on the long tale of Ciri, excluding the magical aspects about her yet relating the prophecy about her.

Jeor sighed as he the tale ended and already the Witcher had a bad feeling. “I’m not a man who believes in myths and prophecies Geralt. Perhaps the people in your lands believe that, yet few do here.” However the Commander looked into Geralt’s calm yellow gaze. “Yet you…the way you speak and stare unflinching. You are serious, aren’t you?”

“Don’t trust in fate, destiny or prophecies. All I’m trying to do is find Ciri and make sure she’s alive.”

“I understand you reasons. Anyone would go far for family…” Yet the mention of that had the Commander’s fist tightly slightly, no doubt over a troubling memory. “But you know I can’t spare the men to do what you’re planning. The risks are too high and don’t aid our cause…I’m sorry.”

Geralt sighed, not mad on the issue. “Its fine I get it. Still was worth a try asking.”

Jeor couldn’t help but chuckle. “At least you’re truthful on the matter. Still if the King does give us the men and resources, perhaps we could work together.”

“If you’re in agreement then expect me to strongly argue your case back at the capital. I’ll beat some reason into stubborn King Robert if just to get him to listen.”

Jeor smirk at the promise. “That aside, how long do you plan to stay Geralt?”

“Plan to leave with Tyrion in about half a week. Have to keep him safe and ensure a speedy return back to King’s Landing. Eddard wants me at his side before they arrive at the capital. Still, plan to send a raven, perhaps to one of the Keeps the royal caravan will be passing through on the way south or to King’s Landing incase I’m delayed.” 

“Then you’re free to do so. We keep the ravens close to Maester’s Aemon’s quarters where you can write your message as well.”

“Thank you Commander Jeor.” Geralt moved to stand up. “If you need anything else of me just ask.”

The Night’s Watch Commander nodded as the Witcher moved to leave his office, yet spoke up as Geralt reached the door. “One last question. Jon Snow. Is it true about slaying his share of Wildlings?”

Geralt glanced back. “Of course it is. He maybe young, but he was naturally skilled before I met him. He has a good sense of honor and bravery about him, traits you need in this bleak place. Don’t push him aside…don’t waste his potential.” With that said, he’d open the door and leave the room yet could see Jeor thinking thoughtfully over what had been shared

…

Geralt soon found his way to the Maester’s quarters which were on the other side of the inner keep. Knocking at the door, an old voice spoke out to him. “Oh…come in please.” 

Entering the room, it was similar to Maester’s Ludwin’s quarters, being half a library and study with a large bed set in one corner. Sitting at one chair was possibly the oldest man Geralt had seen in this world. He was pale, almost having paper thin skin at a glance along with short white hair that just crowned his head. The Maester’s eyes were a dull pale, a sign of the man being blind as he’d look blankly at Geralt. 

“At last…so you’re the Witcher I’ve heard. Geralt of Rivia.” The man remarked, his voice clear yet having an aged tremble to it. “I had a feeling you’d visit me soon after arriving.”

“How do you know I’m really Geralt? You’ve never met him after all.” The Witcher questioned. 

The Maester chuckled, nodding. “True. Yet I can say I’ve never heard anyone step as silently and sure as you. No one here moves in such a way…and considering the tales of you...well who else could it be.” Although the man did shrug. “Then again I could be guessing…an aged bluff if you will.”

“Heh at least you have a sense of humor.” Geralt jested, making the Maester grin in amusement. “I take your Aemon? I was told to come here to get a raven sent south.”

“Yes…I can imagine you must have an important report to share. Parchment and ink are over by that desk.” The Maester answered back, pointing to a writing desk across the room. “Haven’t written much over the years, yet often my steward does that duty for me when messages need to be sent.”

Already Geralt moved to the desk, getting a fresh bottle and roll of parchment out. “Sounds like you’ve been here for a long time Maester.” He muttered as he’d get a good quill and dab it in ink to begin writing.

“Very long yes. Between the many years becoming a Maester and then coming to the Wall…nearly half my life.” Aemon remarked.

“The path of a Maester is a long one. Luwin is quite aged and I know he took many optional courses before joining the Starks.” Geralt commented as he continued to write.

“Aye…Luwin is quite a knowledgeable Maester. We often chatted for hours whenever the First Ranger visited Winterfell for supply and recruits. But I’d distracting us…I’m one hundred and two if the dates are correct.”

The Witcher’s writing paused as he’d glance at Aemon, the old Maester look towards him yet his gaze distant at the same time. “You’re joking right?”

Aemon shook his head, giving a soft grin. “I do not jest Witcher. I’ll admit the lessons of Old Town helped me maintain my health, yet the Wall to me kept me enduring. Perhaps it’s the fresh cool air that flows over its peak? In the end I plan to serve my duties as fully as possible and advise our Lord Commander.”

Geralt smirked a bit. “Heh, you remind me a bit of my own master.” He muttered as he continued to write. “Vesimer was…well…the oldest Witcher I knew. Master fencer and wisest of our group. You two get along I think sharing stories and picking at each other’s knowledge.”

“He sounds like an interesting man.” Aemon remarked, nodding his head slightly. “I can tell you miss him. From how you speak of him he died fighting for someone he deeply cared for.”

Geralt was surprised at Aemon’s sense of empathy, especially with how the Witcher spoke bluntly in tone. Then again it was hard not to think fondly and sadly of his teacher, since even after the many months of his passing it troubled him still. “I do…yet Ciri, my adopted daughter misses him more. Still we avenged him in the end. Metaled the bastard’s face off and crushed his head.” He muttered, thinking back on the tense battle on the Bald Mountain, the lair of the Hags. 

“Yet that doesn’t ease the loss does it?” Aemon calmly stated. “I know loss well. My family are all dead or lost. It is a sad truth yet one I accept and remember. Never let a memory burden you but drive your conviction to press on.”

At this point he wondered if the Maester was a mind reader at this point. “What is the point of you sharing such advice with me?”

The Maester smiled softly. “Because it is what I do best and in the end master Witcher, even you need guidance.”

Pausing, Geralt sighed at the aged man’s answer. “Heh…want to hear a truth about me Aemon. Maybe a bit unbelievable.”

“Considering the long letter I received detailing your Witcher upbringing…it must be quite the surprise.”   
“Truth is I’m over ninety. If you could see me I’d look about in my forties at least, though the scars and pale skin makes that difficult at times.”

“Luwin did send a letter detailing your order’s history, a fascinating read…well…from what my last steward read out loud.” Aemon was silent for a moment, yet his eyes had a thoughtful look. “The potions and experiments you went through young. No doubt they affected your natural Physically enhanced you to peak condition. I’ve heard of such concoctions, yet such studies have been outlawed by the Maesters for the dangerous and unethical uses it has lead. It is logical such changes no doubt affects your life span, preserving your body twice as long. Yes…it makes sense and is fascinating.”

“Can say I’ve never heard of a Witcher dying of old age. Always it comes down to the claws of a beast or the blade of another.” 

“As it is with most in this cruel world.” Aemon muttered in agreement. “Bah, but I distract you from your work master Witcher. Finish your letter. We have plenty of time to talk later.”

Geralt realized he had finish only a third of his writing, making him smirk as he’d move his quill about to continue. Soon he’d finish his message and check over it.

**_To Lord Eddard Stark, Lord of the North and new Hand of the King:  
I have arrived safely to the Wall and Castle Black yet faced another group of Wildlings. Jon and Lord Tyrion are safe, yet this shows that something is stirring beyond the Wall. Lord Commander Jeor has already shared the many difficulties which I will personally share on my arriving to King’s Landing with you and King Robert. Lord Tyrion also shares an interest in supporting the Night’s Watch along with other matters of importance, in sight of debt for saving his life against the Wildlings. Overall be on guard and watch your daughters closely.  
From, Geralt._ **

Rereading his letter, he’d nod as he’d roll it up and seal it with the mark of the Night’s Watch. “Where are the ravens kept?” He’d ask Aemon who had remained in his seat the whole time. 

“Just out that door.” The man pointed to a side door that lead to a walkway leading to the roof of the keep. “Mind Nasr though. He’s a snappy one.”

“Uh…right.” Geralt left the room and headed up to the roof where there was a small single room set at the top, a mix of a storage and rookery for the ravens. The black birds cawed and murmured as he entered, no doubt wanting attention or the chance to spread their wings for a delivery. “Sure not like a dove.” He muttered as he moved around the room yet noticed one of the birds hop from perch to perch towards him. 

“Give it here!” It suddenly said, its voice a low bellow in tone. Hoping to a spot before Geralt, letting him get a look of the bird. For one it was odd in feather color, having a gray tint about it and a chipped deep black beak. “Give it here!” It repeated before leaning in to snap at his hand, making him pull back.

“Guh! Chatty and snappy!” He growled, waving at the raven who fluttered away. “Take your Nasr huh? Trouble maker for sure.”

“Yes me!” It murmured back, rocking about on the perch almost in a boasting manner.

“Smart ass too.” He muttered as he’d go to another raven which was marked under King’s Land. From what he understand, a Raven could only learn two locations, a destination and home. Getting his letter in a small tube and securely attaching it to the bird. “Alright…so take this to the King’s Landing then.”

The raven cocked its head before Geralt moved to open the cage door it was in. Quickly the raven was off, cawing as he flew away southward and out of sight.

“You smart ass!” Nasr spoke out, making Geralt look back at Nasr who gave a long cawing sound that he could only describe as chuckling.

At this rate he wondered if it was some magical bird or not yet with the Wall close by he couldn’t tell. “Guh...chatter all you want.” He grumbled as he’d leave the noisy room and head back into the main keep. Aemon was asleep in his chair, making Geralt shake his head in amusement, although he’d get a light blanket for the old Maester. He’d slip out of the room and head for the guest quarters, eager for a little rest after the long few days of travel.

…

Geralt woke up at the middle of the night, hearing knocking at his door. Shifting out of bed with a sigh, he’d speak up. “Ugh…what is it?” He muttered.

A familiar male voice spoke up through the door. “It’s Jon. I need your help, we have an issue at the…umm…gate.” Soon after there were some faint voices speaking up outside along with a wolf howling out. “Shit! Just hurry up!” Before Geralt could react, he’d heard the young man hurry off.

“Damn it…” He’d hurry to get his boots and cloak on before giving chase, ending up outside in the yard. A group of five Night’s Watch recruits were surrounding something in the center, while one of the Rangers, a gruff short grey haired man spoke out from behind them. “Calm the hell down! If you panic it’s only going to lash out.” Jon was marching quickly up to the group while Geralt followed up behind him.

There be a snarling sound of a wolf, making Geralt approach to see a white furred wolf which he recognized as Ghost, Jon’s direwolf. He realized that he had forgotten about the canine during the trip up to the Wall. No doubt the direwolf having followed them secretly and from Jon’s orders too.

“Back off, he’s not a threat!” Jon spoke up, moving towards the group and forcing his way through to get between Ghost and the other men. 

“So you know this beast Jon Snow?” The gruff man sternly questioned.

“Aye. He’s mine, found and raised him when he was little more than a runt.” Jon proudly answered back. “Shouldn’t have try slipping him into Castle Black. Should have brought him with me when I arrived.”

“Quite impressive boy. Still we can’t have that creature about. Not enough food even to feed it.” The ranger argued back.

“Then I’ll helve my rations. That should be enough to feed Ghost.” Jon countered back, yet already the ranger was shaking his head.

“And have you starve? You’ll be skin and bones within months.”

At this point Geralt spoke up, arms crossed as he’d stare down at the group. “Then you obviously don’t know a direwolf’s worth.” 

Everyone’s attention was on him, the man giving a scowl towards the Witcher. “Ah…so you’re the mysterious Geralt I’ve heard much about.” The man muttered.

“Indeed. I remember you when I arrived training the recruits. Your name being?”

“Allister Thorne, Master-At-Arms. So then Witcher, care to explain why we should let this oversized wolf take up space here?” The ranger gruffly questioned.

“Because I doubt the Watch has ever gotten a trained direwolf before. Ghost is only a few months old and he’s as big as any hound. His sense of smell is twice as strong and he can stalk through wilderness without leaving a trace. Even I didn’t notice him trailing us from all the way from Winterfell.” Geralt calmly explained. “If you ever plan to go beyond the Wall, Ghost is someone you’d want to watch your back.”

Thorne stared down Geralt before glancing back at Jon and Ghost. “Lord Commander Jeor spoke highly of your Witcher and the mark of the Starks proves that too.” Giving a sigh, he’d gesture for the recruits to back off. “Jon Snow…you’ll keep your pet in line. If it so much as nips anyone else I’ll have it thrown over the Wall. Understood?”

Jon didn’t like the threat the Ranger made, yet kept his calm and nodded. “Understand Ser Thorne.”

“Good. Anyway men back to your posts! No more distractions tonight!” He ordered the recruits, making them hurry back to their varying positions along the castle walls and towers. Thorne would march off for the keep, no doubt to report to the Commander about the dire wolf.

Jon sighed before petting Ghost’s head, the wolf relaxing as well after that tense standoff. “Thank you for stepping in.” He thanked Geralt.

“Should have told me along the way. Ghost could have been shot at by one of the men.” Geralt complained back. “I understand your reasons, yet this was a stupid and risky move.”

“It worked out though.” Jon argued back.

“This time. Better to be up front instead of working behind others, especially with those who can help you.”

Ghost gave a small tilt of his head looking at Jon, almost as if taking the Witcher’s side, making Jon sigh. “Fine…you have a point.”

“First day and you’re already making enemies too considering how you snapped at Thorne. I’ll admit he’s an ass, yet despite it he takes his duty seriously.”

“From what Benjen told me he’ll be drilling the new comers like me.”

Geralt thought for a moment, nodding. “Then expect me to come watch. Curious to see how the Watch handles training and to make sure you don’t cause any issues.”

Jon gave a confused look and questioning chuckle. “Issues? What are you meaning?”

“Your rashness that’s what. I saw how you eyed everyone and had your hand down at your sword. A part of you wanted to fight them, put your skills to the test. I know you could match up with most of the men here, yet I didn’t train you just to misuse your skills.” Geralt sternly explained.

“Why not? I need to show the Lord Commander I have the talent to be a Ranger!” 

“I thought Benjen was going to accept you as one?” Geralt questioned.

Jon grumbled and glanced away at the mention. “Such a promotion is seen as…favoritism here, especially for noble born recruits, even bastards like me.” 

“Makes sense. Yet you know there is more to being a Ranger then fighting prowess. You have to show you have leadership and trust with your fellow brothers. Don’t know how Thorne is a ranger, yet his form of leadership is through force and threat, something you shouldn’t copy.”

The young man was silent as he’d stretch Ghost behind the ears. “So, what do you expect me to do?”

“Simple, train with the others like I did with you. Don’t focus on beating them down but teach them what you know. They’ll respect you more in the long run, even if it takes longer.”

Jon nodded before glancing at Ghost. “Thanks for the advice Geralt. Anyway I should get Ghost settled in before he causes any more trouble. Also sorry for waking you up.” 

The Witcher smirked before turning to leave. “See you in the morning Jon.” Reentering the keep, he’d return to his room and fall back into bed, sleeping the rest of the night away.

…

Geralt woke up early as usual, getting dressed in his mix of Witcher armor and light northerner clothing. He’d take just his steel sword for today while leaving his new cloak behind since it was going to be warmer today. Heading outside, the yard was empty at the moment, giving Geralt some time for himself. He’d check the open armory nearby where the most basic weapons where kept, finding the quality of gear to be quite lacking. 

“Hardly any better then what those Wildlings had…” He muttered as he’d draw one of the swords to see just how worn out the weapon was. If this was the best the Watch had, then they were in serious trouble. “Better off giving them butter knives.” Putting the weapon back, he’d soon hear the rest of the men getting up for training and chores. Heading back to the yard, he’d see Jon being the first out followed by Thorne and other rangers along with the group of recruits.

“Alright everyone! Split into groups of three or four. Time to see what you newcomers have to offer!” He ordered out. Everyone began to form into their own groups yet Thorne quickly spoke up to Jon. “Except you boy. You’ll be part of my group.”

Jon was silent yet stepped over to the Master-At-Arm’s group which had three others already part of it. One was a dirty blonde haired young man, tall and sturdy looking from farming work. The other was a bearded fellow with a shifty look in his eyes, the oldest of this group of recruits. The last was a thin and well-kept young man who seemed the calmest of the group. 

“Alright. Training armor and blades all of you.” Allister ordered, pointing out to the ranks of training gear set aside. The group were quick to arm themselves and regroup, which at this point Geralt stepped up close, getting Thorne’s attention. “Here to observe Witcher?”

Geralt nodded. “Don’t mind me, curious to see what you teach.”

“Of course.” Thorne muttered before waving to Jon. “You’re up first. Let’s see what a castle raised bastard can do.”

Jon didn’t say anything, only taking a moment to fix up his training armor before stepping into the middle of their group circle. He’d eye the group of other recruits, trying to figure which one was the toughest or most skilled. 

“Grenn, you first.” Thorne ordered, making the dirty blonde haired man step up. Holding up his sword, it was obvious he didn’t know how to wield it right because of his wide stance and low sword arm. Jon took his usual fighting stance yet spoke up suddenly as Grenn seemed ready to charge.

“Hold your sword up higher.”

Grenn gave a confused look, followed by the other recruits. Allister’s look was passive, yet curious on what was going on. “What?” The young farmer remarked.

“Your sword arm is too low. If you attack it will be too obvious and if you try to defend you won’t be fast enough.” Jon explained. “If you just move your hand-”

“Jon Snow! What are the hells are you doing?” Allister snapped out. “You’re supposed to spar, not chatter.”

Jon looked at Thorne and then back Glenn. “Teaching him how to fight. You don’t expect him to fight

“It’s my job to teach fighting Jon, not yours.” Thorne argued.

Geralt smirked at remark. “Then by all mean’s Master-At-Arms. Finish what Jon was about to say.”   
The Night’s Watchman gave an annoyed look at Geralt before looking to Grenn who was still very confused on what was being argued over. “As Jon was saying. You should have your sword arm up more, hand by the hip and sword tilted forward. It’s a basic on guard stance.” He explained.

“Umm…like so?” Glenn shifted his stance as he got his arm into the proper position.

“Yes like that. At least you can listen to directions despite being thick headed. Now then fight!”

Grenn was the one to make the first move, giving a yell as he lunged in for a stab. Jon was faster though, back stepping and blocking the attack. Grenn stepped up, grasping his blade with both hands as he’d slash out, but the attack was wide and made it easy for Jon to parry. The young recruit stumbled back from the parry while Jon stepped up, sword up as he’d slash at Grenn’s face, yet stopping inches from striking across his nose. 

“Not bad. Still shouldn’t have hesitated and gone with the hit.” Thorne remarked as Jon shifted back while Grenn gave a small sigh of relief, even scratching the bridge of his nose in a hint of worry.

“Broken nose isn’t going to do him any good.” Jon answered back. 

Thorne stared down Jon before shrugging. “Fine then. Alright, another round then!” 

Again, Jon and Grenn would keep sparring, yet Jon fought defensively against the young man. Over time Grenn started to improve on his attacks and his own defense whenever Jon countered attacked. In the end though Jon won as he’d land a solid strike across Grenn’s chest, driving a grunt out of the sturdy recruit yet the training armor softened the blow. 

Geralt was silent as Thorne directed the other two recruits, the rough breaded one being Rast while the thin one was named Pypar. Over time the four rotated between each other, Jon subtly teaching basic moves and stances with whoever he paired up. Thorne watched, not saying much except for when to rotate groups. Overall, he seemed bored with the training, no doubt wanting the recruits to just beat each other senseless with their blunt swords.

“Alright that’s enough now!” He called out. “At least all the three of you can manage a sword. Jon here though shouldn’t hold back so much though.” Pausing, he’d continue to speak. “Clean your gear up and get it set in the armory. Dismissed.” With that the Master-At-Arms left the group for the main keep.

“Quite the ass isn’t he…” Pypar muttered to Jon with a small chuckle as they’d head for the main armory.

“A predictable one considering.” Jon agreed with a small smirk.

“So wait you were seriously holding back?” Grann questioned as he joined up with the two. “Thought I was doing well considering.”

“What you didn’t notice. Jon here was dancing all around you the whole time while you were waving that sword about.” Pypar jested, making Grann give a small annoyed growl and swipe at him with one fist although the slim recruit ducked to avoid it with ease.

Rast at this point spoke up, being the quietest one of the group. “So who taught you to fight like that?” He asked Jon.

“My father Eddard Stark, Sir Rodrik the Master-of-Arms of Winterfell and the man just behind you. Geralt of Rivia, a recent and trusted friend to my family.” 

The bearded man gulped as he’d glance back at Geralt, a nervous look showing when he got an up close look of the Witcher. Seeing the yellow cat like eyes really unsettled him, oddly more than most people the Witcher had met so far. “Not natural those eyes.” Rast muttered as he’d hurry away from Geralt. 

As the group reached the door of the main armory, Jon stop to quickly talk to Geralt. “Thanks for the advice from last night. Did work out quite well.” 

“Surprised Allister kept his calm during all that. Bet he was trying to think of an excuse to get you punished.” Geralt chuckled. “Still, be careful around him. He’s the type of man who doesn’t like competition or his authority to be challenged.”

Jon nodded in agreement before heading into the armory where already Grann was questioning him Geralt and his life in Winterfell. Seemed already the young man was getting along with his fellow recruits quite well, although something had Geralt questioning Rast’s odd behavior. 

As he moved to return for his room, before one of the Night’s Watch Stewards approached him. “Master Geralt. Lord Commander Jeor and Maester Aemon wish to speak with you on important matters.”

“Of course. I’ll see them immediately.” The Witcher answered back, making the steward nod and hurry off to his other duties. Geralt entered the keep and once more headed for Jeor’s office. Inside the room he’d see Maester Aemon sitting beside him and Tyrion who was sitting in the same seat from before. The dwarf looked to Geralt and giving a small smile to the Witcher in greeting. 

“You arrived quickly.” He remarked while Geralt moved to sit beside him.

“Just finished watching the recruits being trained. Didn’t have any other plans for the day.”

Jeor nodded as he’d gather up some papers and slide them over. “Good because we have a lot to discuss. Considering your interest in supporting us, we’ve compiled a few lists that could aid the Night’s Watch. Please take a close look.”

Both Tyrion and Geralt shifted through the papers which were split into different sections. Weapons, armor, supplies, specialists and more were detailed. It was overall a quite sizable list, yet considering the Watch’s sorry state, all of it seemed required by the Witcher’s thinking. Both took their time reading over the lists, yet after a while Tyrion whispered to Geralt. “They are asking for a lot…”

“And this is just managing the middle section of the Wall. Imagine if all three of the main castles were being manned. This list would be tripled in the costs.” Geralt muttered back. “Shows why so many cuts were made to the Watch over the decades, even more when considering the Wildlings haven’t been active until recent years.”

“It take years to get all of this sorted out, that is if King Robert accepts these terms or the capital even has the funds to support it.”

“Ah of course…budgets.” Geralt muttered as he’d had the lists piled together and put aside. Look to Jeor, the Commander had kept a solid gaze at the two while Aemon stared into the distance, although he had an alert look on his aged face.

“Lord Commander. While I see everything on these lists as required, it will be hard to arrange everything considering the transportation distances and such.” Tyrion explained to the Commander.

“I fully understand that. Overall if I can get a fraction of what was detailed it be a good start. Yet I feel providing proof will win Robert over.” Jeor calmly stated. “The Thenn’s axe will be worthwhile and if Benjen’s scouting pays off, we may have more to show to the King.”

“When did he leave?” Geralt questioned, curious since he had seen the First Ranger just yesterday.

“Last night before dawn. Benjen took only a few of his best men and went to scout the region the deserter had detailed. If we can find the bodies of his fellow brothers, we may find clues on what killed them…that is if their intact.”

“It would have been a month since the deserter’s scouting party disappeared. Why did it take this long for a serious effort to be done?” Geralt questioned.

Jeor sighed at the Witcher’s harsh question. “Often such small scouting parties disappear, either be it ambushes, the wilderness or simply them running off. There have been rare cares of Night’s Watch joining the Wildlings, yet the last confirmed case was decades ago. We rather not send good men or waste resources on such cases, yet with the increased Wildling encounters, that will change from now on.”

“Glad you’re taking this seriously.” Geralt remarked although Jeor’s expression hardened at the remark.

“I’ve always taken my duty here seriously Geralt. I’ve dedicated most of my life to the Watch and will tend to it until my passing. So long as I can command, swing a sword and walk…nothing with stop me.”

“He meant no offence Commander.” Tyrion pipped in, trying to calm the situation. “Overall this will take time, yet I assure you aid will come. I think after Benjen returns we will make haste of King’s Landing and present your requests to King Robert.”

“Good. Anyway there is nothing else left to discuss on the matter. For now continue to explore Castle Black and perhaps visit the top of the Wall when you get a chance. Again, thank you for your time gentlemen.”

Both nodded as they’d get up to leave, yet in the hallway Tyrion spoke up to Geralt. “So when should we go to the top of the wall?”

“Heh I thought that was going to be the first thing you’d do when you came here.” Geralt questioned.

“Just waiting for the right chance. Perhaps we can get Jon to come along, have a little goodbye party before we leave. That will be a memorable event!”

“Doubt the Night’s Watch throws parties there...gets freezing at night time from what I heard.”

“Bah…details details.” Tyrion dismissed. “Just leave the planning to me while you keep Jon out of trouble and manage other issues.” With that said the dwarf hurried off, leaving Geralt grumbling.

“From political agent to a party fiend…swear he’s going to get me into trouble one of these days.” Geralt decided to head off to the castle’s library. He wondered if the old tomes had any new stories or facts that he could research about the land beyond the Wall or perhaps answer who and what the creature Ciri had fought in his dreams.

…

The time in the library had been interesting, yet drew no success. Overall the books just gave more detailed recounting of the creation of the Wall, the building of its many castles and the formation of the Night’s Watch. Anything about the Children or the White Walkers were vague, making them sound more like obscure cultures then true supernatural beings. Yet the Wall was proof of magical influence, just he so far found no true answer to its creation. His medallion had humming and shaking constantly since arriving to the fortress, forcing him to keep gripping it to calm the enchanted item. After spending half the day and most of the night studying, he retired for his room and would awaken in the late morning just as recruits were finishing their training. 

When he headed outside though, he’d see Jon guarding an overweight young man wearing an oversized set of training armor and looked bruised up from being beaten. Grenn, Pypar and Rast were all roughed up by the way they gripped at their guts or sides, panting in pain by the looks of it. Behind them Allister had an annoyed look on his face.

“Fine then ‘Lord’ Snow. If you care about Lord Piggy here, then you two can get night duty on the Wall. Expect you up there by sunset. If not then it’s laterine digging for everyone here. Dismissed!” The Master-At-Arms marched off to the keep, passing by Geralt who he didn’t even glance or speak too.

As Geralt approached the group, Jon moved to check on his companions who he chatted with, although Rast ignored Jon as he grabbed his sword and hurried off for the armory. “What the heck happened?” Geralt questioned.

At this point the chubby recruit spoke up. “I-It’s my fault. Sir Allister wanted me to f-fight and I failed miserly. Couldn’t even take a single hit Rast threw.” Bowing his head, he’d sigh. “I am a coward like father says…”

Jon could tell Geralt was confused, giving a small sigh and waved over at the fat recruit. “He is Samwell Tarly of Hornhill…well…was. Allister wanted to see what he could do, so he paired him with Rast. Knocked Sam down with one blow and beat him while he was down. I sort of…stepped in and Thorne ordered the others to fight me as some punishment.” 

“Didn’t want to do it.” Grenn muttered as he rubbed his sore gut. “Could have pulled back on that kick a bit more.

“Heh not as bad a Rast got. Solid blow to the groin. May explain why he was quiet, didn’t want to share his new high pitched voice.” Pypar jested. Everyone chuckled at Pypar’s jest, the young man always seeming to be the one with the best jokes to share.

“So night shift on the Wall. Seems this is a blessing in disguise. Tyrion was looking for a good moment to have his little Wall party, so what better then tonight.” Geralt suggested after a moment of thought.

Jon and Sam looked surprised at the idea. “You’re joking right?” The young Stark chuckled, doubtful about the Witcher’s idea. Yet seeing Geralt’s deadpan look, they realized he was serious.

Pypar smirked at the idea as he’d tug Grenn forward. “Are we invited? Always enjoyed parties. You’ve ever gone to one Grenn.”

“Well…festival once or twice.” Grenn muttered, feeling as if he was being roped into more trouble.

Smirking, Geralt shrugged at the two. “Doubt Tyrion complain. Never is against friendly company.”

“I think the dwarf’s habits are rubbing off onto you.” Jon chuckled as Geralt moved for the keep. 

“I’d sooner blame my old friend Dandelion for such a habit.”

“Heh, with a name like that I bet. Never told me you had friends back home.” Jon remarked.

“Well now you know. I’ll tell you more tonight.” Geralt left the four recruits who were chattering about, Sam being shy yet welcomed by the trio. Heading for the keep, he’d head for Tyrion’s room yet found the dwarf just about to leave. “Hold on a moment Tyrion.” 

The Lannister glanced at Geralt with a curious look, yet noting the small smile the Witcher had. “Let me guess, you have a crazy idea that will surely piss off someone stuck up and important.”

“Heh…how you guessed that?”

“Master Witcher, knowing such things is a hobby of mine. Now please share the details.”

…

Night time cloaked the Wall and Castle Black, with the sky being clear and the northern winds being low for once. At the high top of the Wall though, a bright fire was burning and the sound of laughter could be heard as the small gathering enjoyed the view. With a little smuggling between the six, they had snuck up their dinner rations and Tyrion’s last bottle of wine to enjoy the night away while sharing stories. 

“So wait? You joined the Night’s Watch because you thought it be a good career?” Tyrion chuckled after Grenn finished his tale about joining.

“Farm life just wasn’t for me. After all grew up not knowing my real parents. Ma and pa told me I was a strong one, should try the soldiering life…yet always heard stories about the Wall and Night’s Watch. Thought it be the best choice.” The young man sighed as he’d eye his cup of wine, gulping it down with a sigh. “Last time I believe stories like that.”

“Heh, don’t worry yourself. Jon was just as naïve about the Watch. Took half a dozen people to put some sense into his head.” Tyrion jested, making Jon give an annoyed look to the dwarf. “What it’s true.”

Jon sighed, rolling his eyes a bit but grinning in the end. “Fine I did.” He’d gaze at Sam next who had been the quietest of the bunch. “What about you Samwell? What drove you to come take the Black?”

“You said you’re a Tarly? I remember reading about that House when studying about Robert’s Rebellion. Randyll Tarly was the only commander to beat Robert’s forces, although it didn’t change the overall outcome of the war.” Geralt remarked.

Sam sighed and shrugged. “Yes father always went on and on about that. He’s lucky Robert thought to spare our family despite siding with the Targaryen’s, guess out of respect or something.” Shaking his head. “Father didn’t appreciate my focus in books and learning calling it ‘womanly’. Yet when it became my naming day he…promise we’d go on a hunt in the woods and…well…kill me…make it look like an accident. So, gave me a choice, stay for the hunt or go join the Night’s Watch which I’m…here.”

The dark tale had everyone silent, giving awkward looks between each other. “Well…not the worst noble disowning tale I’ve heard.” Geralt suddenly remarked. “Still, sounds like your father is a bit short sighted.”

“Always consider marital prowess and tactics over anything else.” Sam chuckled nervously.

“Pride only gets you so far. Seen it be the bane of a dozen nobles in my life.”

“Bah enough about nobles and disowning. Sure the Night’s Watch isn’t perfect yet look at you all…loyal brothers in arms.” Tyrion quickly pipped in. The young recruits nodded in agreement as the dwarf got the wine bottle and refilling their cups until the glass was empty. “In the end you are the future of the Seven Kingdoms. The first guard against the savage Wildlings and the unseen threats of the harsh wastes!”

“To us!” The recruits chanted out, even the shy Sam joining in. Everyone gulped down their drinks, although as Tyrion finished his, he’d set his cup aside on an icy formation and move towards the small path leading to the edge of the Wall. “Anyway…just one thing to do. I made a promise back in Winterfell that I plan to keep.” 

Jon shook his head. “Well if you are, don’t trip over the edge while you’re at it.”

“Oh my sister love to hear that news, yet I plan to disappoint.” Tyrion answered back as he’d round the corner for a little privacy, already fiddling with his belt along the way.

Geralt sighed as everyone laughed. “Sadly, I should keep an eye on him. Be back soon.” He’d hurry to follow the dwarf while the group continued chatting about.

Rounding the corner, he could hear Tyrion sigh and the trickle of…well…fluids. He’d hang back, just seeing the dwarf’s cloaked back as he relieved himself. “Ahh…you know you should do this yourself. Make quite the tale boasting about piss over the edge of the world.” The Lannister remarked as he finished up and fixed his pants.

“Sadly not on my bucket list.” Geralt answered back with a smirk. “Still, may get a chance when I come back.”

“So you say.” Tyrion sighed as he’d tighten his belt, yet suddenly squint his eyes as he noticed something odd far below in the darkness. “Either my eyes are seeing things or that is torch light.”

Curious, Geralt stepped up to the Wall’s edge and used his sharp vision to see far below through the dark. Indeed there was a light trailing through the line of trees and crossing the vast open space that distanced the Wall. It seemed a group of riders by the pace they moved.

“Sound the horn!” Jon spoke out, showing that the group had noticed the light despite their festivities. Someone among group hurried along, blowing one of the nearby signal horns once to alert of returning Night’s Watch. Other yells could be heard of the other night shift guards along the other portions of the Wall as everyone became active at this point. 

Geralt looked to Tyrion who had a more serious look about him. “Best we head back down as soon as possible.” The dwarf nodded in agreement as the two headed for the grand elevator down yet ran into Jon was heading for it. 

“I’m going too. Need to be sure it’s Benjen.” The young man explained.

“Allister will have you flogged for trying to leave Wall duty. I understand your reasons, yet you need to stay up here. Could be troubling following whoever is returning.” Geralt answered back.

“I hate it when you’re right sometime Geralt.” Jon sighed. “Fine I’ll stay…yet when sunrise comes I’m heading down.”

Geralt nodded as he’d open the door of the large wooden and metal elevator before stepping in, Tyrion following in. Tugging the call cord, the contraption quickly began to descend. Jon watched them giving a short wave before returning to rejoin his group. “I expected Benjen to come back in the morning. Wonder what drove him to come in the middle of the night.”

“Well soon see Geralt. Best not to think of the worst outcome.”

“It’s habit to think that way for me.” The Witcher muttered as they neared the bottom. Castle Black was lit up as most of the men were active, almost ready for an assault. Despite how understaffed and equip they were, they were quick to react and serious over this unexpected arrival. No doubt Jeor had drilled the men for such a situation. In fact, the Lord Commander was at the front, giving orders as the men were getting the massive iron gate that blocked off the long tunnel leading to the other side opened.

Just as Geralt and Tyrion arrived at the bottom, the heavy gate began to raise as the trio of riders came forward. First thing Geralt noticed was that they had two bodies slung over the back of their saddles. The leading rider tugged off a black face mask and hood to reveal it was Benjen. Hopping off his horse, he approached Jeor and quickly spoke to him while his fellow Rangers pulled the bodies off their mounts. At this point, both men looked to Geralt and Tyrion as the two came into view. “Witcher. Glad you’re here. We could use your expertise on this matter.” Jeor spoke out.

“Let me guess. To examine the bodies?” He questioned back, getting a nod from both the Lord Commander and First Ranger. “Guess I’m the most qualified next to the Maester yet his…blindness no doubt complicates that.”

“Maester Aemon will be present during the examination. His vision maybe gone yet his mind is sharp enough to understand a detailed description.” Benjen explained. “We’ll have everyone prepared in a few minutes. Check at the infirmary when you’re ready.” He’d then move to join his fellow Ranger, directing them to the keep while Jeor ordered the men to close the iron gates of the tunnel along with having Watchmen settle down after the alarm.

“Seems celebration is over.” Tyrion muttered. “I’ll talk with the First Ranger and Lord Commander, see what else they can share about this scouting mission.”

“Appreciated.” Geralt simply answered as he’d head off to his room to gather a few of her personal tools before finding the infirmary. The one of the rangers remained as a guard and tender for Maester Aemon who sat close to two worn tables that the bodies lay on. Overall the infirmary was very basic yet at least well stocked, although most of the bottles and supplies seemed very untouched, showing the Watch rarely had serious injuries or sickness break out.

The old Maester gave a soft smile and he heard the Witcher walk in, his gaze loosely following Geralt’s path to the examination tables. “I take you’ve done an autopsy before? I’ll admit for me it’s been many decades since I’ve handled one back in Old Town.” Aemon remarked.

“A few times. Last time it was tracking down a serial killer who harmed a friend of mine. Had a quite experienced doctor though to help me during it.” Geralt answered back as he’d stand beside one of the tables. The two corpses were pretty much frozen stiff after being exposed to the elements for nearly two months, yet at the least it had preserved them over that time. One corpse was intact yet the other had been beheaded, with the limb itself set beside body. “Either they were secluded or no scavengers where lurking around…which is odd.” Glancing at the ranger, he’d continue to speak. “How far away where they from the Wall? Also, who are these two anyway?”

“At least a day away on foot and half by horse.” The ranger stated. “We did a spread out formation, keeping in sight yet covering plenty of ground. Slow process because of the pace yet that is what helped us find them. As for their names…I know the one with the head was a new comer is Waymar Royce of the Vale. Joined recent and got handed a Ranger position within the month.” Pausing, the Ranger looking at the headless corpse. “That one is Gared. Tough old bastard and a capable ranger. Must have been caught off guard or outmatched to lose his head like that.”

“Interesting…” Geralt muttered as he’d focus back on the bodies. “Can’t tell what killed the intact one, may need to thaw him a bit to get a better examination. That could take a day if I have the right conditions set.” Looking to the beheaded body though, he’d study the stump of the neck. “Clean cut. One swing from what I can tell. Whoever did this was incredibly strong and a fine bladed weapon.”

“Thann’s are the only group to have good steel weapons. Most favor axes. Does the wound match such a weapon?” Aemon questioned. 

“Can’t tell. Wound is just too old and chilled from a month of exposure. Thann be the best bet yet that doesn’t explain why they left the bodies.”

“Ahh yes…the rumored claim of them being cannibals. I take they weren’t looted as well?”

The Ranger nodded. “Indeed. Everyone had their swords and daggers still. Wildlings are scavengers overall and take every chance to get new weapons when they can.” 

“So, a group of Wildlings ambush the deserter’s scouting party. They kill one and brutally kill the other in front of the deserter if his story is to be believed, yet simply let him go…maybe as a warning? Doesn’t add up.”

“New group then? Tons of Wildling tribes, heck we keep finding new ones every few years.” The Ranger remarked. 

“Unless these types are mindless ferals, I doubt it.” Geralt argued back. “Again I need the bodies thawed for a full examination. Have one idea that I remember from Skellige, a northern island nation where I came from. Going to need some metal containers and coals along with some burning oil to help create steam. Should allow for a gradual thawing without damaging the bodies.”

Aemon nodded, seeming to agree with the plan. “An interesting idea overall. See to it that Geralt gets everything he requires.” The Maester said to the Ranger who nodded before moving to help Aemon out of his seat. 

“Just wait here Master Witcher.” The Ranger answered back as he’d guide the Maester out, leaving Geralt alone.

Sighing, he’d glance back at the two bodies. “Nothing adds up.” He muttered as he’d pace around the table, one hand touching his medallion which was humming intensely again. “Damn thing still won’t calm down. Can’t even check for lingering magic if any was involved. Need at least a few miles away from the Wall to do that.” After a few minutes waiting, the Ranger returned with the items the Witcher had requested, which he took off the Watchman’s hands. 

“Certain this is going to work?”

“Small chance the bodies could just…rapidly decay. Have seen it happen before.” Geralt casually remarked as he placed the metal tins around the before carefully pouring oiling into the coal inside of them. With the Ranger distracted, he’d make the Igni sign to light the tins up before getting the lids mostly closed so steam funneled out into the room. “Anyway, should keep the place shut up. Need to keep a few windows open just to air it out yet not let cool air in.” If anything he was more of talking to himself as the Ranger simply nodded as he watched Geralt get the few windows cracked open slightly. “I’ll have to make sure the coals are refilled every couple of hours. Overall they should be thawed out by tomorrow night.” He’d move to leave the infirmary, the Ranger following out yet making sure to lock the door behind them. Turning to the ranger, he’d have one hand out. “Hand me the door key. If I’m correct only Aemon and the Lord Commander have other copies.”

The Ranger seemed hesitant yet he’d give a sigh and handed the iron key over. “I’ll report this to them both. I trust you’ll not lose it.”

Pocketing the key, he’d nod. “Of course. I doubt either of them will disagree.” The ranger simply shrugged before he’d departing, leaving Geralt alone. Considering the busy night, he decided to head for his room and sleep in to morning. By then it be a good chance to check on the bodies along with discus what could have happened with the others.

…

Geralt spend most of the day either in his room or checking up on the corpses in the infirmary, making sure the thawing was going well along with replacing the spent coals. He had expected the Lord Commander to call for a meeting, yet none came as the day went by. Over the course of the day he did see Jon and Tyrion yet they seemed busy considering how they were moving about the castle, no doubt related to last night’s events. Soon the evening crept in and by this point Castle Black had calmed down, the yard being empty as the sun was setting. 

“Should be time about now.” Geralt muttered as he’d head outside and down to the lower levels of the keep for the infirmary. On the way there though, he’d nearly run into someone out on the walkway down to the yard. He’d quickly realize it was Jon who had a quite surprised look on his face and a tired hint showing in his eyes. “Didn’t expect you to be up still.” The Witcher remarked.

“Uncle Benjen had me taking care of certain matters. I did alert his arrival first last night, so I guess I’m getting a lot of attention.” Jon answered.

“If anything Tyrion saw the Rangers arriving first.” Geralt corrected, making Jon frown. 

“Doesn’t count…” He muttered while the Witcher chuckled. “Anyway, what are you doing at this hour?”

“Checking up on the corpses. Should be thawed by now.” Already he’d move by Jon and down the stairs, yet the young man followed along. “You don’t have to come along.”

“What, no lesson to share this time?”

“Not this time. Still can’t stop you from tagging along.” By now they’d near the infirmary, yet once the door came into view Geralt would stop suddenly. The door into the room was opened, lingering steam just flowing out through the cold evening air. Already the Witcher was on guard as he approached the door, one hand grasping his sword for a possible ambush as he’d peek inside. “Damn it!” He growled as he stomped into the room, gaze set on the table which was missing one corpse, Waymar’s corpse.

“What is wrong?” Jon questioned before following in, seeing the empty table as well. “Uhh…where is one of your corpses? You didn’t accidently melt it did you?” Despite the jesting remark, Jon seemed just as confused and worried.

“It wouldn’t decay into nothing if that’s what you’re joking about. Be a gory mess if that happened.” Geralt muttered as he paced around, sharp eyes looking for any clues on the floor or nearby furniture. “Only three keys to this place and whoever did this had only four hours of time to move the bodies, yet they’d be easily spotted by someone outside. Doubt the Lord Commander or Aemon just decided to dispose of one of them without informing me.” His attention shifted to the door itself, checking the lock. “Huh…switch lock on the inside.”

“Meant for emergencies from my understanding. If there is an attack, the injured can lock the door from the inside and then unlock it once everything has cleared up.” Jon explained. “Wait…you’re not thinking it was open from the inside?” 

“Unless someone stole one of the other keys it’s the only explanation. Whoever it was would have had to sneak in while I was checking the steamers which takes me only a few minutes. No one is that skilled to get by me in such tight quarters.” 

Jon shook his head. “Then what? Did your corpses just get up and walk out?”  
There was a tense pause as Geralt felt that may very well be a possibility, considering his experience. “I think I may need my silver blade for once.” Already he’d step out of the room, trying to think over what could be going on. “Can’t be necromancy. Too much preparation and noise involved…along with a lack of a mage.”

“Geralt what in the Hells are you talking about?” Jon questioned as the Witcher was already moving up to the upper floor of the keep, heading for his room. “You can be serious about the dead just…getting up and walking away.”

“Has happened before in my experience.” He calmly remarked. “Just don’t know how it’s possible in this case.” Going down the hallway towards his room, Geralt paused as he noticed that the door was open. Calmly, he’d draw his blade and move closer to the door.   
Suddenly a figure lunged at him, making him quickly step aside as the figure slammed into the stone wall, giving a deep inhuman growl. In the low light he recognized the figure to be Waymar, yet his eyes were different having a low blue color to the irises. Without hesitation, he lunged forward, stabbing the walking corpse right through the gut, yet Waymar didn’t even flinch as enchanted steel pierced through his thawed guts. 

“Stay back!” Geralt warned Jon was stood by baffled at what he just saw, while the Witcher ducked a heavy swipe from the reanimated corpse. Again his blade slashed out, dismembering the swung arm but yet again the undead Ranger didn’t react to his injury. Once more the thing lunged at Geralt, forcing the Witcher to get his sword arm up to shove the thing back. Pushing his other arm under its chin, it growled and snarl as he pinned it against the hallway wall. Bringing his other hand up, he made the Igni sign as a focused stream of fire jetted out, setting Waymar’s head on fire. This time the thing howled out and thrashed, forcing Geralt back as the thing struggled to put out the flames yet only spreading it across its body. Stumbling towards the Witcher and Jon, both backed off as its pace slowed until it fell forward a smoldering mess.

“You…you just shot fire out of your hand…” Jon muttered in shock. 

Geralt gave an odd glance to the young man as he’d sheath his sword, stepping closer to the corpse which he gave a light kick with his foot. “You just saw a walking murderous corpse and that’s your first concern?” He muttered as he looked back at Jon, who seemed to be ready to answer back yet remained silent.

“Anyway yes I can conquer fire. I’ll tell you more later…” Already footsteps and alert voices could be heard, no doubt people drawn by the sounds of fighting and undead Waymar’s shrieking. Lord Commander Jeor was the one leading the group and just one glance of the scene had a stern questioning look showing in those eyes. “This is going to be hard to explain…” Geralt sighed.

…


	11. Season 1 - Episode 10: The Long Ride South

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After an encounter with a Wight, Geralt knows something darker threatens all of Westeros. With the Night's Watch needing support, he travels to King's Landing to convince Robert to send aid with the growing threat of the Wildlings invading. When visiting Winterfell though, he learns of troubling news of a growing conspiracy against the Starks.

Chapter Ten: The Long Ride South 

...

Geralt sat calmly on the cot in the cell, silently staring at the floor while Jon paced around before him. At times he’d glance up at the young man, seeing the way Jon looked between door of the prison hold and the Witcher. Jeor had been quick to lock to two up as a precaution, thinking Geralt had just skilled one of his men. Geralt had been quick to explain the disappearance of Waymar’s corpse and being attacked by it at his room. The Lord Commander was at best doubtful at the claim yet decided on a roll check with everyone at the castle while he had both Geralt and Jon isolated. Overall it was a logical move and gave Geralt time to think over what had happened.

At this point Jon sighed as he’d stop before the Witcher, a serious look on his face. “Alright…tell me what happened? I remember all your talk about how magic exists from where you come from yet I didn’t think it was literal. Also, what was it that you just killed?!” 

“Well I can say it wasn’t like anything I’ve seen back home. Nothing like a necrophage from back home.” He muttered back. 

“Necro-what?” 

Sighing, Geralt continued to talk. “A type of monster, unnatural creatures that feed off the corpses and the living. Anyway only other explanation is a curse. Remember once finding this manor in a woods…strange place full of dried corpses that rose up to attack me. Not as tough as the thing I burned though or as mindless.” 

“Sounds like a crazy tale there.” Jon muttered. 

“Quite. Yet another story for another time. Point is yes…I have magic. Back home it’s very basic compared to others yet here I’d seem like a mage to you.” He’d flex his left hand, quickly making the Igni sign as the nearby candle flames suddenly went out. Jon quickly glanced at them as Geralt made the Sign again, making them light back up once more. “Seems Signs work better while I’m close to the Wall. Sort of like I’m drawing from the magic it has.” 

“Is that why you’ve been holding your medallion so much? I can see it shaking now that I look at it.” 

Geralt nodded as he’d remove the wolf head piece, handing it to Jon. “I crafted that myself the day I finished my training before a mage enchanted it. It shakes whenever magical sources are about, a useful way to warning me of possible danger.” Jon grasped it, the young man was surprised feeling in vibrate, making him grip it tightly before handing it back. “Anyway…I do have an idea on what happened to Waymar. How much did you study up on the old tales of the First Men and Children?” 

“Nothing more than bed time stories. Remember all the tales of the war between them against the White Walkers when I was younger.” Jon answered back. 

“About right.” Geralt muttered with a shrug. “Yet what do the tales say about the Walkers? The terrible magic and power they are said to have?” 

Jon had that doubting look to Geralt, unsure what the Witcher was getting at. “Said they bring winter with them, the Long Night as it is called because of how the sun is blocked out. Just their presence has…” The young man paused, a hint of realization showing in his eyes. “…has the dead rise up serve them. You not saying a myth did this?” 

“I think it’s more of an omen. Think about it. The sudden storm two months ago, the story of the deserter and the Wildlings coming south. Something serious is stirring beyond the Wall and I fear the Night’s Watch will be unprepared for whatever it is.” 

“It’s not me you have to convince but Jeor and my uncle. That thing didn’t even flinch when you gutted and dismembered it…I don’t know how to explain that.” 

“I’ll figure something out.” By this time, the door to the holding cells opened as Lord Commander Jeor and First Ranger Benjen walked in followed by three other rangers. Stopping at the barred door of their cell, Jeor nodded for one of the rangers to unlock it before entering. 

“We checked with everyone. No one is missing, so we can conclude you didn’t just murder one of our own.” The gruff man bluntly stated. “So you claim Waymar’s body came back to life and left the infirmary. If that is so why was he at your room?” 

Geralt shrugged. “Not sure. I can’t explain why or how…only that it happened.” 

Jeor sighed at the answer. “It’s hard to believe yet the only reasoning to believe. So far the news of this incident has been limited between the higher ranks. This matter will be kept confidential for now.” He’d look to Jon with a serious gaze. “I trust you, Jon Snow, will keep silent as well on the matter?” 

“Of course sir, since it is your order.” The young man muttered. 

“It’s a mistake to hide this.” Geralt warned to the Lord Commander. 

“I understand your concern, yet in the end you must understand moral here is low as it is. How many men will believe that a two month long frozen corpse got up and tried to kill someone without seeing it with their own eyes? Perhaps in time we will…but for now secrecy is needed.” 

The Witcher was silent after that answer, yet he’d nod before standing up. “So, do you expect me to keep quiet as well? 

“I can’t force you Witcher. All I ask is you refrain from discussing the matter here. Tell Lord Tyrion out on the road or even share it with Lord Eddard…yet it’s up to them to make of your claim.” Pausing, he’d gesture to the door out of the cell. “Besides that, you’re free to go.” 

Geralt nodded as he’d move to leave the cell, he stopped when he passed by Jeor. “I recommend you burn the other body or any other dead that you may get. If this happened once, it will happen again. Keep that in mind Lord Commander.” With that, he’d leave in the holding cells, yet heard Benjen speaking to Jon, seeming to have an important matter to discuss. Heading outside, it was now morning, showing just how much time had passed. He hadn’t gotten much sleep, yet didn’t feel the need to rest after everything that happened. Still, he’d head into the living quarters of the castle looking for Tyrion, although he’d nearly run into the dwarf when heading inside. 

“Geralt? Where the hell have you been all night? When the roll call was given, I was confused on why you and Jon were missing.” The dwarf questioned. 

“A bit complicated and worth telling after we’re gone from here.” Geralt simply answered back. “When will you be ready to go?” 

Tyrion had an odd look in his eyes at how the Witcher avoided his question, yet he’d soon answer back. “Tomorrow morning for sure. All our supplies will be accounted for by then.” 

Geralt simply nodded as he’d move past Tyrion who glance by him. “You know…when you get all silent and broody like that, it means something serious has happened.” 

A small yet amused sigh escaped from Geralt after that comment, yet he didn’t answer back as he’d return to his room and pass the time double checking the last books he borrowed from Maester Aemon, trying to find some detailed story about the undead that served the White Walkers. 

…

All the stories he had reviewed we’re so vague, no detailed battles, more like broad tales about the ancient war. Yet one description detailed a material that disrupted and wounded the White Walkers, mainly because their mastery over frost made any metal weapon shatter.

“Dragon glass…what is that…” Reading the details of the material it sounded like obsidian from his understanding. “Strange that is affect a magical being. No monsters or magic I know are harmed or react to it.” However it could be the natural process the glass is created crated the essence of fire within. Maybe it was even enchanted by the Children to be more effective, since this was ancient times and obsidian tools and weapons were more common place back then. Glancing out the nearby wooden, Geralt realize it was already the evening, showing just how caught up he was in his research. “Spent weeks just researching. At this rate may write a whole book after everything I’ve learned.” He jested to himself as he closed the last book he had been reading. Just then though, there was a knock at the door and a familiar voice speaking up.

“Geralt, can we talk?” Jon said through the door.

Opening the door, he’d see Jon had a quite serious look on his face, no doubt after talking with both his uncle and the Lord Commander along with thinking over last night’s events. For a while the Witcher didn’t say anything, yet already knew what the young man had on his mind. “Let’s talk on top of the Wall. More private.” He’d quickly grab his cloak and two swords, not wanting to be unprepared if any more surprises came up this evening. Leaving his room, Geralt lead Jon to the grand elevator and begin the long ride up to the top. Nothing was said until they reached the top, the howling winds of the frozen north echoing across the Wall’s peak as they’d walk onto the icy barrier. Pacing to one of the watch stations, they’d view across the vast forests and mountains, the low setting sun giving a beautiful color across the snow-covered landscape.

“So…about what you said about using magic. You can do more than just shoot fire from your hands?”

Geralt nodded, gaze still set at the horizon. “Quen, protective barrier of shocking energy that can deflect even the strongest blows. Yrden, a circle of binding that slows and weakens others. Aard, psycho…ummm…air burst that can knock a fully armored man down. Axii, mind affected spell to confuse or influence others.” He’d pause as he let all those abilities sink in for Jon.

“Gods. So…you’ve been holding back whenever you’ve been fighting all this time?” 

“In the case of our sparring matches yes along with keeping secrecy. Yet my Signs haven’t been working right, except here at the Wall. They either don’t work or so weak they’d be hardly be useful.” Geralt explained. 

“Yet if you’re…Signs how would a duel against Jaime play out. Many claims he’s the best swordsman in the Kingdoms.

“He’d lose.”

Jon was a bit taken aback, expecting an exciting answer then that. “Just like that?”

“Just like that.” Geralt calmly repeated. “If it was just up to our swordsman skills though who knows. I’ve met plenty fighters with amazing potential much like yourself and Robb.”

“I see…” Jon was silent now, unsure what else to question the Witcher about. “So, is it true you’ll be leaving tomorrow morning?” 

Geralt simply nodded in response. “You can come along if you want. You haven’t taken your vows yet.”

Jon remained silent, a troubled look showing on his face before he’d give a small chuckle. “You know…father said that to me when we left.” At this point, the Witcher looked to Jon with a curious look. “Before we left Winterfell. He said if I doubted joining the Night’s Watch then I shouldn’t join. Said that you put a little reasoning into his stubborn head.”

Geralt chuckled at the remark. “Guess he took some personal advice well.” 

Jon nodded. “It meant a lot hearing it from him. I know you and everyone else has said the same thing, yet he’s the one who started this ideal.” The young man focused his gaze back to the landscape though, a serious look in his eyes. “If anything I was deciding to go. Let you train me more, see the Kingdoms and help find the truth about Bran.” He’d pause, taking a deep breath before continuing. “Yet last night…changed it all. Seeing that thing, the Wight, made me realize that I’m needed here. Something is going on beyond the Wall, be it Wildlings invading or monsters crawling out of the snowy wastes. I fear what will happen to the Grenn, Pypar and Sam if they’re left alone to face whatever is to come.”

Geralt didn’t answer for a long moment, impressed by the young man’s mature response. “Guess seeing a dead man walking would make you reconsider things…although most be running away from the danger not towards it.”

Jon chuckled at the remark. “Sadly, I’m not that kind of person.”

“I understand your reasoning. Can tell that you already have a good bond if your fellow recruits and don’t want to abandon them. The Night’s Watch is going to need good men like you to keep it together when conflict arrives to the Wall.”

“Glad you agree on that. I just hope you can get us the aid we need.”

“Same. Have a feeling me and Tyrion are going to be stonewalled at King’s Landing. I know how politics get in the way of such matters.”

Both were quiet for now as they’d watch the sun set, the shadows spreading across the landscape in a quite foreboding manner. “There was another thing father told me before we left home. He said next time we’d meet, he’d tell me about my mother…about who she was and how it all happened.” Looking to the Witcher, there was just a calm yet pleading look in the young man’s eyes. “Please keep father safe while you’re at the capital.”

Geralt could understand Jon’s request, no doubt wanting to know the full truth about his existence. “Knowing the man, he’d fight tooth and nail before breaking a promise. Don’t worry though, I’ll watch his back.”

Jon relaxed a bit, giving a thankful nod before the Witcher shifted away from the ledge of the Wall. “Anyway we best head down. Going to get colder with the sun down.”

“You go on ahead. I’m going to stay just a bit longer.”

Geralt stopped for a moment and looked back at Jon, the young man still facing out towards the north. “You know this is going to be the last time we going to see each other for a long while.” The Witcher stated. “Not much for goodbyes myself. I can tell you’re not one for them either considering how you were with your father.” He’d shift through his cloak, making Jon glance back to see Geralt holding a wooden replica of his wood medallion. “Not much of a carver but sort of had time to practice. Think of it as a memento.”

Jon took the medallion, giving a small smile as he examined it. “Huh…should have expected considering Bran had one. Thank you Geralt.”

“Stay safe Jon.”

The young man nodded as he’d put the medallion on. “You too Witcher.”

With those simple goodbyes, Geralt moved for the elevator and took the long ride down back to the castle. He’d return to his room and go to bed early, wanting to be well rested for the start of the long journey south.

…

When dawn came, Geralt was quick to dress for travel and pick up his packed belongings. Heading out Tyrion was waiting by the stables along with Lord Commander Jeor, First Ranger Benjen and Maester Aemon. Approaching the group, the three gave nods to the Witcher before Jeor spoke up. “I hope the road will be clear for you both. The Night’s Watch is relying on you to get that report to the King, espcally if the Wildlings are uniting together.”

“We’ll certainly send a raven back once we have King Robert’s answer, although he will no doubt discuss the matter deeply with the Small Council.” Tyrion replied.

“There is one parting gift I have though.” Maester Aemon added before giving a quite sharp whistle. With one arm out, a grey raven suddenly flew down from the keep and onto his arm, Nasr the chatty raven. 

The bird cocked it head looking at Tyrion and Geralt, a cunning look in its eyes. “Hello hello.” It chirped.

“Nasr here is a one of a kind raven. One of the oldest raven’s I’ve encounter and the most intelligent.” Aemon explained. “A raven normally memorizes two locations, a destination and a home. Nasr is special because he has no limits when it comes to places he can remember. Issue is he’s fickle as he’s cunning, yet when he’s sent off he’s never failed a delivery.

“Thank you.” Nasr chuckled, obviously enjoying the praise.

“Not sure I want to drag your favored pet around the Kingdoms.” Geralt muttered as he looked at the bird, swearing those beady eyes had a mischievous look at him.

“Ah he won’t trouble you. No need for a cage or feed. Nasr knows how to keep track of his handler and care for himself.” The raven hobbled on the Maester’s arm before suddenly fluttering off to Geralt as it landed on his shoulder and give a few testing prods with its beak at this leather shoulder pad. 

“Heh, seems the bird already likes you Witcher.” Benjen chuckled. “Just be sure to bring him back in one piece.”

“I’ll try my best.” Geralt muttered before Nasr fluttered to Tyrion who had a curious look in his eyes. Letting the bird perch on his leather gloved hand, he’d offer up a cracker to the raven who quickly gobbled it up.

“I like him. Always wanted a personal raven.” The dwarf remarked. “Even if it is well…on loan. Of course, I’ll keep a good watch on him.”

Jeor stepped up to the two, keeping that stern look yet having a kind smile on his face. “Then I wish you two safe and speedy travel. Hopefully you two will return once things have calmed down.”

Tyrion and the Lord Commander would shake hands, the dwarf nodding in agreement. “I’d like to hope so. It’s been an honor Lord Commander.”

Jeor shifted his attention to Geralt as Tyrion moved to get his horse, one of the rangers guiding a horse to the short noble, yet having one of his own. It seemed they’d be having company on the road from what the Witcher could tell. “That is Yoren, one of my top men and a recruiter for the Watch. He will be able to short out the logistics for any supplies and aid you’re able to get us. From what I know Lord Tyrion has been quick to befriend him.” Indeed the two were chatting, the ranger having an amused smirk on his face. Jeor looked back at the Witcher, holding out one hand for him to shake. “It’s been interesting to meet you Witcher. I hope someone like you can get some reasoning into King Robert while there is still time.”

Geralt firmly shook the old Commander’s hand, realizing quickly the man had an iron grip despite his age. “Having met the man…well…that may be a challenge. Still I don’t plan to leave the Night’s Watch empty handed.” Reaching into a saddlebag, he’d take out a leather folder and hand it over to the Lord Commander. Curious, the old man started flipping through the pages, drawing a questioning look across his face.

“Where did you get these? I may not be a Maester yet I know an alchemical formula and weapon diagram.” Jeor muttered. “Improved crossbows, blades, armor enhancements, bombs…the Alchemist Guild has long guarded some of these secrets if rumors are true.”

“Just a collection of mine from my travels. The weapons are simple to craft yet better quality then what you currently have while the bombs are a more specialized tool your men might need. I recommend reviewing those with your Maester and plan out proper store if you plan to make any.”

Jeor review a few of the diagrams, nodding a bit. “These can be useful. Thought materials and supplies are still needed.” Yet at the bottom of the papers, he’d find a bunch of signed papers, most of the writs Eddard had signed over to Geralt. “Wait these are…” The Lord Commander muttered, double checking the papers before chuckling. “This may just give us the edge we need in the coming months. I’ll need to send suppliers out to get these redeemed.”

“Their better off in your hands then mine. Use them well.” 

Jeor nodded as he’d tuck the folder under one arm, giving a thankful nod to the Witcher. “Thank you Geralt. Good luck down at King’s Landing.”

Geralt nodded in agreement before moving to his horse, pulling himself up onto the saddle while Yoren did the same. Glancing at the Night’s Watch recruiter, he could tell the man was an experienced individual by just his look alone yet world weary from the tired look in his eyes. He’d give a nod of recognition to the Witcher before the gates of the castle opened up for the trio. Taking the lead, Geralt rode out while the two followed, Tyrion behind him and Yoren taking the flank. They headed out at a quick pace, slowing once they reached the more hilly regions of the Gift. Hours past, only idle chatter happening between Tyrion and Yoren. Once it was getting dark, the group set up camp by the road, although kept picked a less wooded spot to avoid a possible repeat of the Wildling ambush. 

“So Yoren, care to tell me more about your role with the Watch?” Geralt asked once the group settled down.

The man gave a small shrug. “See no harm it in. Recruiter is the short title of my job. Officially it’s Wandering Crow. Overall, I just travel between the major cities between Winterfell and King’s Landing, carting off anyone desperate enough to escape the gallows or losing a hand.” Sighing, he’d scratching the back of his head. “Miss the days when people were willing to join. Honest men young and old willing to take the Black.”

“Everyone has settled down after Robert’s Rebellion. Work has gone well, and the people are overall happy with the King …even though he is loose with the people’s tax money. The roads and buildings maybe worn out, yet entertainment is always a numbing distraction to such matters.” Tyrion remarked.

“Aye. Heard all about the feasts and tourneys he’s hosted over the years. Another one supposed to be happen in a few weeks when he returns to the capital. At least I’ll have something to watch while I’m visiting.”

“Ah it will be an interesting event. Geralt here is even taking part…with me as his sponsor” 

Geralt gave an odd look to Tyrion after that sudden claim. “Sponsor? I thought Lord Eddard be doing that?”

“That is the issue. You don’t officially serve House Stark, your position as ‘champion’ is more of an honorary role which no doubt everyone in the North respects. South to the Riverlands and beyond though, that title will have little meaning to most.”

“Alright fair point on that. So what is your scheme then? I can tell you have some cunning idea for all of this.” 

“Simple. Fame and fortune.”

“Tyrion, your part of one of the more renown and richest Houses in the land…why would you need more of that.”

“On a personal level Geralt. While I enjoy spending my father’s coin and throwing the family name about to get what I want, there are limits to it. Having seen what you can do, I know there will be plenty of betting going about and I know you’ll be in the center of it all.”

“Yah, except it’s not you battling it out with the most skilled knights of the land. Not worried about the risks, just curious what is my gain besides good publicly?” 

Tyrion chuckled at what the Witcher was meaning. “If its gold you’re worried about, you’ll get a fair cut.”

“Good. Considering I lost most of my money coming here. Doubt the pocket full of orens I have would count for much here.”

“Money does make the world go round. Doesn’t matter which side of the Narrow Sea or beyond that.”

“True enough. That aside though, I take you’ll tell me more about what events the tournament has planned along with the competitors?” 

“In due time. Nothing has been finalized and I only know so much from rumors and offhand discussions from King Robert. We’ll discuss the details once we get farther south.” Tyrion assured the Witcher.

“Fair enough.” Geralt muttered with a shrug.

…

The rest of the night was spent with idle chatter until the group decided on watch shifts for the night. Geralt and Yoren rotated shifts while Tyrion slept, not being the most suited for guard duty. Overall everyone got enough sleep and by dawn, they’d continue southward once more. Three days passed for the trio until they’d near Winterfell. At the crossroad to the large keep, Tyrion stopped everyone before speaking up.

“Best we pay a visit. I can imagine Geralt may wish to see how Bran and the others are doing. I have one small matter to do as well. Besides we could do with at least one night resting on warm beds and having hot meals while we can.”

Geralt didn’t say anything, yet nodded in agreement as they’d ride westward towards the castle. The place seemed exactly the same from a glance, yet the Witcher could tell there was less lifelines going about. No doubt with Eddard gone along with his daughters and Bran’s injury, things have become dulled here. Not long after arriving though, a familiar laugh and voice drew the trio’s attention.

“Back already Geralt? Thought you be staying up at the Wall longer than a week.” Graffin chuckled as the Stark soldier approached the group.

Giving a small smile to the man, Geralt got off his horse and shook hands with him. “Think I saw enough up there. Seen a lot in my life, yet the Wall is unlike anything I’ve seen. That aside though, how have things been here?”

The question had Graffin give a more concerned look, mainly towards Tyrion. Leaning in he’d mutter in a low voice. “It’s about Bran. A few days after you left an assassin set fire to one of the buildings and snuck into his room. Tried to kill the boy. Lady Catelyn was there and held him off before Summer pounced the man, ripped his throat out.”

The grim new had Geralt give a serious look to the soldier. “Anything special about the assassin? I’ve dealt with such types before.”

“Man was pretty unremarkable. No real history, just some drifter type who was in the area a few weeks ago. What made him special though was his weapon, a valyrian steel dagger with a dragonbone hilt.”

The Witcher gave a curious look hearing about the weapon. “I take he wasn’t the type to be owning such a weapon. From my understanding valyrian steel weapons are limited to nobility and collectors.”

“Aye. Lady Catelyn knew that someone of high standing must have hired the man and gave him the weapon. She believed it was someone part of the royal convoy who did it.”

“So then she put everything together. She realized Bran’s fall wasn’t an accident, no doubt confronted Sir Roderick and he told her about our investigation. Learning how a Lannister was behind it, she no doubt reacted badly.” Geralt deduced.

“I know the Master-at-Arms talked to her about it, tried to explain that you and Lord Eddard were dealing with the manner. Never seen a woman so fierce and driven before. She was quick to head off for King’s Landing, no doubt to personally warn her husband and show off the weapon.”

Geralt grumbled at the news. “When did she leave? Any idea of what route she took?”

“I know they wanted to get to King’s Landing fast and in secret. The best route be by boat along the eastern coast, so they’d most likely be heading to White Harbor within a day or so.”

“Damn it…” Geralt muttered, already trying to think of a plan. “The last thing we need is her going around King’s Landing and drawing attention. That woman could draw unwanted attention if she gets to the capital and start asking questions.”

“Going to take her a while to sail south.” Graffin muttered. “My best guess is she should arrive to King’s Landing a few days after the royal convoy returns…unless the wind and weather favors her, and she gets there sooner.”

“Whatever the case I’ll handle it.” Geralt sighed. “I take Robb is overseeing the running Winterfell?”

“Indeed. Didn’t like his mother running off so suddenly yet he’s managing well.” 

“Good to know. I have a lot to discus with him about his brother and what’s going on at the Wall.”

“Then best check in the Great Hall. He’s been busy having audiences from the little folk and other House envoys. A lot of people no doubt wanting to make a good impression with him since he’s managing the North now.”

“Same old politics. Anyway, I better see him while I can. You take care Graffin.”

“Heh, same to you Geralt.” The soldier gave a nod before heading off to the barracks just before Tyrion approached the Witcher. 

“Bad news I take? You have the look of that everyone has when they hear it.” He questioned the Witcher.

“Later, right now need to see Robb.” Without another world, Geralt was already marching off to the Great Hall, the dwarf hurrying after him while Yoren remained to handle their horses. There were guards at the hall doors, who’d let them through after a moment, no doubt Robb finishing a meeting with a requester. Indeed, there was a village elder talking to the young noble, giving a respectful bow and muttering thanks to Robb who sat at the center table set at the end of the hall with Luwin beside him.

“Thank you my lord. Blessing of the Seven and prayers for your brother.” The man muttered.

Robb gave a small nod of thanks. “Take care. The soldiers you requested will be waiting for you at the gates.”

The elder nodded before hurrying pass Geralt and his companions. It wasn’t hard for Geralt to figure out what the man had been here for. Stepping forward, the Witcher quickly got Robb’s attention, bringing a small smile to his face. He’d get up from his seat before moving to personally greet Geralt, shaking hands with him.

“Glad to see you’re back Geralt. Never thought such madness be happening in just over one week after you and father left.” 

“So I heard. An assassin nearly killing Bran, your mother running off for the capital…and I take trouble with your northern villages. Wildling raiders?”

A hint of surprise showed on Robb’s face, showing Geralt was right. “More of odd sightings of late. I’ve been getting requests for men to be stationed in towns and focus on patrols along the side roads.”

“Smart move. I can say the Wildlings are lurking about though. Ran into a group of them when we headed for the Wall. Night’s Watch even reporting the tribes are acting up lately, united together to try and get past the Wall.”

“Explain the increase sightings. Not sure how they get over to this side, yet that is a matter for the Night’s Watch to deal with. Anyway, I take you’re going south to report to father and the King?”

Geralt nodded. “If King Robert ignores all this then he’ll be seen as foolish. Have more than enough proof to sway him over…at least I hope.”

Before Robb could say anything more, a servant suddenly hurried in from a side passage of the hall. The woman seemed breathless, no doubt having ran through the entire Keep getting to them. “Lord Robb…its Bran…he’s awaken!” The woman gasped, trying to catch her breath. 

Both Geralt and Robb gave shocked news at the news, yet quickly became one of relief. Even Tyrion have a pleased smile at the news. “Wonderful news! Fate has been kind for the boy indeed.” The dwarf remarked, making Robb glance at him. Geralt did notice an odd look in the young noble’s eyes, a showing distrust towards Tyrion despite the dwarf’s supportive words. 

“We best go see him. Maybe we can get some answers if is memory is clear.” Geralt remarked.

“Don’t pressure my brother too much Geralt. It’s a miracle that he has awaken and I’d rather not stress him too much.”

By this point Luwin would join the group, speaking up as well. “I’d also think it be best that I examine the boy. We don’t know the full extent of his injuries until we do some tests. I’ll go on ahead to check on him.” Robb nodded in agreement before the Maester hurried off for the Great Keep.

“I do hope I can meet Bran. I do have a gift for him, something to help with his new hardship.” Tyrion added, giving a small bow to Robb. “For now though, a warm meal and rest will do me good. Until next time Lord Robb.”

Both Geralt and Robb watched the dwarf stroll out of the hall, yet once the Lannister was out of ear shot Robb would speak up. “There is something mistrusting about him.”

“He’s an odd one, yet doesn’t mean anyone harm. If you think he’s involved with what happened to Bran, that isn’t true. Doesn’t fit with what I found in the tower or with Tyrion’s personality.”

“I know that…maybe it’s just that he’s Lannister. Could know something about what happened.” The two began to walk down on of the passages that linked the Great Hall to the Great Keep, heading for Bran’s room.

“He doesn’t know anything, yet has some suspicions. Considering I saved him from those Wildings, he has a debt to pay and plans to help me however he can.” 

“Huh…Lannister’s always pay their debts.” Robb chuckled. “I trust your word, so I’ll believe what you say about Tyrion.” 

Arriving there were a few servants finishing cleaning up the room, who’d soon leave once Robb and Geralt arrived. Luwin would be beside Bran’s bed, busy examining the boy’s legs, testing if he felt anything or could draw a muscle reflex with his prodding. Laying close beside Bran was the boy’s direwolf Summer, who’d rest his head on the boy’s lap in a protective manner.

“No…nothing.” Bran said, his voice soft and tired as he laid there.

“I see…troubling.” Luwin muttered before noticing Geralt and Robb’s arrival. “It is as I suspected. The boy has lost all feeling to legs. No doubt a spinal injury cutting off all connection.”

Despite the saddening news, Bran was oddly quiet, no crying or begging. Geralt knew the boy was tough, yet even that impressed him. Robb stepped up, a sad look on his face as he’d hold Bran’s hand, the boy tightly holding on. Geralt stood beside the young noble, keeping a calm look despite the mix of emotions he felt.

“Bran, do you remember what happened at the ruined tower? Do you know how you fell from it?” The Witcher asked in a low voice. He’d look to Summer who whined a bit to him for attention. Sighing, Geralt scratched the direwolf behind the ears, making the wolf pant happily.

Bran’s closed his eyes, trying to focus on that day and moment. “I remember me and Summer running along the plains. I wanted to go explore that old tower ever since I got good at climbing.” Pausing, he’d rub the direwolf’s head before continuing. “I remember nearing a window and heard something. I peaked in then…remembering something push me off the ledge.” Shaking his head, he’d sigh. “That’s all I remember.”

“It’s fine. Maybe over time your memory will come back. Trust me…I know how it’s like.”

Bran nodded before moving one hand to the wooden wolf medallion on his neck with a small smile before looking to the crossbow and quiver beside him. Geralt moved to the items and handed them over to the boy who looked them over closely. “I guess I’ll be able to practice archery at the least.” He said, a hopeful hint showing in his voice.

“Course you will. I’ll carry you out myself once you’ve rested up a bit.” Robb chuckled. “Still you’ll need someone to help you around, carry you about and to handle other physical tasks.” Thinking for a moment, the young man soon had an idea. “Hodor be fitting. The man may be dull minded yet is strong as a bull and knows how to listen well.”

Geralt remembered see the large servant since coming to Winterfell. From what he knew the man suffered some kind of sudden seizer that left him simple-minded when he was young. “Sounds fitting. Still, back home I remember some members of nobility having specialized chairs for movement, wheel chairs. Don’t know the designs but...could be something Luwin could research into.”

The Maester thought for a moment before nodding at the idea. “I have heard of such a device. Most designs I’ve heard vary in complexity, yet I think with time and effort a proper one can be built for the young master.”

“Then please do that Luwin. Whatever materials you need I’ll have them delivered in haste.” Robb added, showing his support for this idea. 

“Best that I get to work then.” Nodding to everyone, the old Maester hurried out of the room, leaving the others to themselves.

“So…where is father and mother? Shouldn’t they be here as well?” Bran ask after a moment, fiddling a bit with his crossbow yet having a worried look on his face.

Robb glanced to Geralt, yet the Witcher shrugged to the young man who’d sigh, realizing this was his responsibility. “A lot has happened after your fall…so this may take a while to explain.”

…

The rest of the day was spent talking with Bran over last two and half weeks over what had happened. The boy was saddened to hear how his father left for King’s Landing and shocked about the assassination attempt on his life, along with his mother being injured in protecting him. Knowing that his parents were so far away had him sigh, wishing he could see them after what had happened. Yet Geralt did his best to shift the topic to more interesting matters, such as discussing about his visit to the Wall and how Jon was doing. The tales about the grand northern barrier brought an excited gleam to the boy’s eyes and eased the sober mood. By evening, the boy seemed tired out from all the talking as he’d lay back to rest.

“Best let you rest Bran. Still weak after being out for so long. I’ll make sure the servants get you a big meal for tomorrow.” Robb said as they’d get ready to leave the boy alone.

“Alright. Though…could I eat down at the hall? I can’t stand staying in bed for another day.” The boy muttered.

“If you feel you’re up for it. For now, sleep up for tomorrow.”

Bran nodded before giving a small smile before closing his eyes, drifting to sleep while Geralt and Robb moved to leave the room, making sure to lock the door behind them. They’d head through the Great Keep for the main courtyard, taking the time to talk privately along the way.

“Do you have to leave tomorrow? We could all use your help considering how hectic the last week has been.” Robb asked.

“Like to, but your father needs my help at the capital and your mother needs to be stopped before she does something rash.”

“I understand. Still I’d feel more confident with my duties having experienced others to advise me.” 

“Then here’s some advice. Follow what you believe is right and best for people of the North, not what you believe your father would decide. You aren’t like him no matter how you see it.”

Robb didn’t answer at first, giving only a nod and thoughtful look. “So, I take you’ll be leaving early tomorrow?”

“Yah. We’ll stay for breakfast and to say goodbye to Bran before heading out. Going to be hard to catch up to the royal convoy before it arrived at King’s Landing.”

“Heh, I bet you’ll get there early.” Robb chuckled as the two strolled out into the yard, stopping out before the Great Keep. “Anyway you best rest up. Doubt you’ll get a chance for a soft bed for most of the road.”

“Won’t argue with that kind of advice.” Geralt remarked with a smirk. “See you tomorrow Robb.” The two part way, Geralt heading for the Guest House and Robb back into the keep. The Witcher would return to the same room he had stayed in before, quickly getting to bed and sleeping well into the morning.

…

By morning, Geralt was already dressed and packed for travel. Out in the yard he already had his horse ready for the road, after of course saying goodbye to the remaining Starks. Heading for the Great Hall again, he’d enter the vast room to see the Starks and other household eating at the many tables, with Robb and Bran at the main table. Beside the boy was the large figure of Hodor, who helped move plates of food around for Bran, often muttering his name as usual. Robb’s dire wolf Grey Wind along with Summer sat close beside their respected master, chewing on quite large bones which they had picked clean of meat. Sitting at a table close by to Stark was Tyrion and Yoren. Already the dwarf was chatting with the two, seeming to be finishing the thrilling tale of Geralt’s battle against the Wildlings.

“…it was unlike anything you’d have seen out in the yard, Bran. The way his sword cut was like lightening.” Tyrion detailed, being overly dramatic about what had happened. The young Stark seemed amazed by the tale, even Robb having a curious look as he listened. “Ah and the hero himself arrives. Have a seat Geralt, we saved a plate just for you.” Tyrion gestured to the open seat beside him with a large breakfast set for the Witcher. Sitting down, he was quick to eat his meal while the dwarf continued to speak to Bran. “Tales aside though, I do have a gift for you. From what I know you enjoyed riding horses.” Reaching down to a pack, he’d take out a set of scrolls and papers before moving over towards the two. Robb took them, checking them over to see they were designs of a saddle yet with odd harness and straps for the legs of the rider.

“Never seen a saddle like this.” He muttered, showing Bran the blueprints.

“I may not be a Maester yet I do enjoy my books. After hearing of Bran’s accident, I thought it be polite to find a way to help with his crippling injury.” Tyrion explained. “With the right saddle and a young horse, it can be properly trained for him to ride with ease once more.”

Bran had a hopeful look at the idea, a small smile showing on his face. Robb looked over the plans before setting them aside. “I really did underestimate you Lord Tyrion. Thank you for kind gift.” Robb said formally.

“I tend to have a spot in my heart for cripples, bastards and broken things.” He answered back quite proudly before returning to his seat.

“Explains the company you keep.” Geralt chuckled, making even Yoren smirk in agreement. Breakfast was soon finished up for the group and they’d all start to get up from their seats to get ready to leave.

“Time we head off.” Geralt muttered as he’d approach the head table to say goodbye to the Stark.

Robb would stand up give a short tug to the Witcher, patting him firmly on the shoulder afterwards. “I expect you to visit again one day, hopefully with the whole family together.”

Meanwhile, Hodor picked up Bran and carried him closer to Geralt, a small hint of sadness showing in his eyes. Geralt leaned in before giving the boy a short hug before ruffling up his short dark hair with a small smirk. “You stay strong alright?”

Bran gave a small smile, nodding. “I will be.” Pausing for a moment, he’d continue to speak. “Tell father that I hope to see him soon.”

“Promise.” Geralt shift back, giving a small wave to the two before rejoining Tyrion and Yoren. The trio head out of the hall, yet Geralt glanced back at the two Starks, having an odd feeling this maybe the last time he see the two for a very long time.

…

The next week of travel would be long and tiring, even for road worn Witcher. While the King’s Road was well kept and direct in route, the quick pace of the riding did wear down on him. Tyrion was often exhausted by the end of the day, usual being dead asleep as soon as they made camp. Yoren seemed to be use to such fast and long traveling, although considering his role in the Night’s Watch it wasn’t surprising. They had left the North halfway into the first week and entered the damp Riverlands, which reminded Geralt of Velen with its similar environment. Often as they rode nearby marshes and rivers, he expected to see a Drowner lurking under the murky water or a Foglet slipping away into the mists. Yet there were no monsters, just the stray splash of a jumping fish or the shuffle of a deer bounding away.

Between traveling and camping, Geralt questioned Tyrion about King’s Landing along with the major figures of the capital, along with other questions about individuals involved with Robert’s tourney. He’d learn about the different individuals that made up the Small Council, Robert’s advising group who also helped managed the running of the Kingdoms, such as their names and public history. As for the competitors for the tournament, Geralt’s interests mainly focused on Jaime and Gregor Clegane, the Mountain. Every time he heard people talk about the man it was often in fear and disgust, yet after learning the man’s history, he’d know why. The tales of the man’s bruthal strength in battle, shocking speed and great endurance sounded quite superhuman to the Witcher, yet he wondered if it was in exaggeration. The man was infamous for killing others for the slightest offenses, along with killing women, children and even infants from what was rumored during the end of the Rebellion. Overall, he was everything the Witcher hated, the vile and monstrous nature humans were capable of.

“Not sure why I should be scared of him.” Geralt calmly stated as he sat close to the campfire, Tyrion giving a curious look at the Witcher.

“When you see the man, you may understand why.” 

“Doesn’t matter if he really eight feet tall. I’ve fought and killed bigger.”

“Another monster tale no doubt?”

Geralt nodded. “In Skellige, one of the islands was taken over by an ice giant, possibly the last of its kind. Led a small army of monsters to force everyone off its new territory before forcing whatever survivors to begin crafting a massive war boat. He was massive, at least over twelve feet tall and strong enough to use an anchor as a club.”

Yoren chuckled at the tale. “You must be pulling our leg Geralt. If such a thing existed, how could you have killed it? Doubt any man, even the Mountain can match up to that.”

“Had some help with some friends of mine, Skelligers seeking the giant out. As for how…well…we just fought it until we got him gutted and beheaded. Still thrashed us good by the end of it.” Yet before he continued on, he’d stop and shift one hand to his steel sword, making Tyrion gulp nervously. “Someone’s coming.”

Everyone looked to the nearby road as they’d hear hooves, making them relax slightly as a cloaked rider neared their camp. He’d stop at the edge camp before dismounting, approaching them on foot until the fire light revealed him. The man was a roguish fellow considering the light beard on his face. He wore a set of light banded mail and leather along with a long sword and short sword on belt. Wasn’t hard for Geralt to figure the man as a sellsword since he lacked any House symbols.

“Hey there. Care to spare a little drink and food for a traveler?” The man asked casually. 

“I wouldn’t, though I’d care for an introduction.” Tyrion questioned.

“Bronn, just Bronn.” The man answered back before tying his horse to some nearby trees before sitting back across from Geralt. The sellsword looked between the three, realizing they were quite the odd trio. “So…uhh…you some kind of trope? Can’t say I’d ever met a dwarf, Night’s Watchman and…” Looking closer at the Witcher, he’d then notice the bright cat like eyes, making him give a double take. “…and…whatever you are.” He muttered.

“Geralt of Rivia. Witcher.” He answered back.

“Da fuck is a Witcher?” Bronn chuckled. “Quite the odd title and no doubt an interesting tale to it.”

“Long one at that.”

“Ugh…feel like I’ll be bored hearing it again” Tyrion muttered, yet gave a jesting smirk. “Very well then tell him. I’ll see what wine we have left in the skins.”

A few hours passed as the trio chatted with their guest, Geralt sharing his story with Bronn along with their little trek from the Wall and down for King’s Landing. The sellsword was quite the blunt yet sarcastic type, being crude with his words yet friendly all the same.

“Now I think about it I’ve heard about you. You’re the stranger who strolled out of the North with a dozen dead Wildlings behind him? Heh impressive.” He complimented.

“Anyway you’re turn. What’s bringing you south?” Tyrion asked.

“Amusement and work. Heard about the tournament happening in King’s Landing, all for the new Hand of the King. Thought be fun to see. Also, considering there will be plenty of noble types there, I’d thought to try my chance getting hired by one.”

“Huh…smart idea considering.” Geralt remarked. “Guess not much work during peace time?”

“The odd job here or there, mainly protection work. Right now, needing something more long term and stable.”

“You may be in luck with me. Looking for reliable types who can offer up protection.” Tyrion offered. “The Lannisters can offer the best in gold and benefits after all.”

Hearing the family name, the man chuckled out. “Damn it…should have known you’d be a Lannister, much less the ‘Imp’ himself.” He’d pause as he’d think on the offer. “Guess it can hurt yet going to have to discuss over the details.”

“Of course. We have a few more days until King’s Landing, yet I’m sure we can come to an agreement at the Crossroad’s Inn. Just a few days away from there.”

Bronn shrugged. “Fair enough. Least the road south won’t be boring anymore.” Yawning, he’d lean back against a nearby tree and tug his cloak up. “For now though I need some shuteye. Hard to sleep when no one is watching your back.” He muttered. 

Everyone but Geralt would get comfortable for sleep while he’d remain on watch. He did drift into a light meditation, yet his eyes opened when he heard fluttering wings and a bit of cawing. Bron grumbled at the noise. “Guh…strangle the blasted thing…”

Smirking, Geralt got up as he’d move to the edge of the clearing to check up on Nasr who had been keeping to himself the whole trip south. The grey raven quieted down as the Witcher neared him, hoping off his branch and onto his arm. “Alright cut it out.” He muttered as the bird pecked lightly at his leathered sleeve. 

“Monsters! Monsters!” The raven murmured suddenly, making Geralt give a questioning look.

“No…there isn’t any.” Still he did shift one hand to his medallion, the sensitive metal having been still ever since leaving the Wall. “You must be seeing things. Anyway, cut it out alright.”

“Warned ya!” The raven fluttered off into the darkness, making Geralt shrug as he’d move back into camp. Yet his pace slowed before glance back into the dark wetlands, getting an odd gut feeling of being watched…a familiar one.  
“No…just my imagination.” He’d return to his spot, giving a sigh as he’d again relax and drift back into mediation.

…

Deep in the marsh lands, a raspy chuckle echoed through the forest. A hunched figure hurried through the mix of muddy water and dense woods, not slowed by the rough terrain. “Ohh what a surprise this was.” The voice chuckled, female in tone yet having a faint hint of other voices behind every word. “To think he’d be here. Yet the threads of fate call for it…”

Light shined ahead as a large worn cabin peeked through the trees, a secluded place far from the main roads and towns. Nearing the build, the light at last revealed the hunched figure who at a glance was best described as disfigured woman. She wore an oversized cone shaped hat on her head and patchwork clothes made of a mix of leather and cloth which held together a pair of rotting human legs like a grim trophy at the front of her gown. Her face was partly covered, the right eye having a dirtied brown cloth over it as a patch while the other was flesh fused socket with hive like holes where buzzing insects nested in.

Entering the cabin, the crone Weavess chuckled as he’d take out the latest collection of child hair, having gotten a tidy tribute from the more secluded villages. Her attention focused on the largest wall of the room which had a massive tapestry set across it, depicting three beautiful woman in rags conducting some occult ritual. Yet two of them were marred by burn marks and blades, showing that someone had vandalized it. “That Witcher and the girl wounded us so.” The crone growled as he gazed at her work. 

“They brought the witch hunters. Weak men…yet persistent and numerous. They raided our home, ruined my masterpiece.” She’d get her needle out, moving to the tapestry as she began to skillfully weave the hair to continue repairing it. “They attacked our Sabbath. Broke out power over Velen. Murdered you my beautiful sisters!” She nearly wailed out, feeling such pain of their absence. “Yet the Conjunction of world began again. How I sensed the vast swell of magic…worlds rich and untapped of their Source. This one was so ripe to take foot in, innocent to our kinds touch.”

She’d finish the line of hair, getting another bunch as she continued on. “The air is so empty. The Source sleeps deeply…yet soon it will awaken in the roar of fire, screams and blood!” She’d cackle as she remembered the vision she had when she arrived to this world. “She who is heir to the throne of iron and will birth the dragons anew to the world. In turn you will be reborn as well!” She used the last of the hair, the tapestry partly mended. “We’ll have our revenge sisters. The White Wolf is blind to the truth and the child of destiny lost. Their flesh will be one we’ll savor…” Weavess cackled out in sadistic glee.

…


	12. Season 1 - Episode 11: Inn at the Crossroads

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a long ride from the North, Geralt catches up with the royal caravan returning to King's Landing. While baring troubling news, he gets caught up in new conflicts and encounters a familiar and powerful individual he hoped to never meet again.

****

**Chapter 11: Inn at the Crossroads**

“Feeling alright Geralt? You keep looking out at the swamps as if worried about something.” Bronn suddenly spoke up, snapping the Witcher’s attention towards him.

“Old habit. Regions like this weren’t that safe to travel back home.” He explained. “Course there was war and banditry all about.”

“Eh, give anything for a little conflict.” The sellsword muttered with a small smirk.

Geralt simply shrugged as the group continued, leaving the murky swamplands for more lush forest. Leaving the thick line of trees, the party of travelers soon saw their destination just down the short slope of a hill. The Witcher truly realized just how big the royal convoy was as it spread across the area, taking every open space up and surrounding the large cozy tavern which was bustling with attention. Music and laughter could be heard, showing that a small party of playing out among the convoy. 

“Seems we arrived just in time! Looks like they just arrived yesterday by my guess.” Tyrion chuckled as he’d led the group forward.

“Wait…we’re just going to stroll right into the King’s private camp?” Bronn asked with a small chuckle. 

“Why not? I’m family after all and if there is any issue with the guards, I’ll simply explain about your new employment to me.”

Riding into the main camping grounds of the caravan, they’d be greeted by pages who were quick to help the riders dismount and tend to the tired horses. Geralt thanked the page, yet was quick to look around the area, trying to find Ned in the mixed crowd of servants and nobility. “Best I go find Lord Eddard. I take you’ll be fine on your own Tyrion?”

“Of course. No need to worry about me.” The dwarf said with a small smirk. “Come along Bronn, time we get a proper drink. Heard this place offers quite the fine selection!” The Lannister and sellsword were off to the tavern while Yoren would walk up to quickly speak with the Witcher.

“As much as I’d like to meet Lord Stark…I think I need a good bed and sleep first.” Indeed, even the Night’s Watch recruiter looked exhausted after two weeks of hard riding 

“Go ahead. I’ll be sure to tell him to see you later.”

Yoren nodded thankfully before he’d head off for the tavern building as well, leaving the Witcher to himself now. Geralt began to roam the main camp grounds, sharp eyes trying to find any of the Stark daughters or their father. However, as he moved along, a smooth female voice spoke up to him, making him glance about to see it was Cersei. The beautiful woman was dressed in a fine red summer gown, the outfit showing off her slender figure and matching well with her golden long hair. She was flanked by two King’s Guard, the men standing attentively as she approached the Witcher. 

“Well, Sir Geralt. Quite the surprise to see you here.” The queen said in a coy manner. “I take you had an interesting and safe journey up to the Wall and southward?”

He’d nod before giving a respectful short bow to her. “The trip had its moments your grace. I’ve seen a lot amazing sights in my travels, yet the Wall is unlike anything else.” He answered back.

Cersei gave a soft smile, nodding her head slightly as he’d walk beside the Witcher as they strolled through the encampment. “No doubt a tiring trek considering how quickly you traveled. I hope Tyrion wasn’t too much of a bother following along.”

“Bit eccentric though kept things interesting as we traveled. He shared quite a few good tales along the way. Except for his drinking habits, he’s hardly like anything the rumors claim him to be.”

“Perhaps…he does have plenty of bad habits.” Cersei muttered with a small shrug. “Family aside though, I’m curious to know if Bran condition has improved. I can’t imagine how Lady Catelyn must be feeling…any mother would be distraught having their child suffer in such a way.”

Geralt was curious at the queen’s interest on the matter, knowing well she had been at the tower where Bran fell. “When I visited Winterfell after going to the Wall, Bran had awakened. He’s lost his memory over what happened, yet it seems the fall was an accident.” 

When he mentioned Bran awakening he could sense a worried feeling from Cersei, hearing her heart race for a moment before she composure herself. “Good fortune then for House Starks. Lord Eddard’s mood will no doubt improve hearing this good news. He has been quite brooding ever since we left Winterfell and from constantly dealing with my husband. The two may have been friends during the Rebellion, yet so many years can change a man.” She’d pause for a moment before continuing to speak. “Robert was heartbroken seeing Bran crippled and suffering. He suggested the boy deserved a painless death then struggle for the rest of his life. If he had suggested such a thing if our children had been in the boy’s place…” She’d take a deep sigh to silence herself before giving a soft smile to the Witcher. “The children are our future. No matter what happens they should always be cared and protected for.”

Oddly that remark reminded Geralt of Ciri, thinking of all the years he spent training and trying his best to protect her. “I can agree with that.” Geralt remarked with a short nod. “Still I feel that one day we have to let them live on their own. Not be overprotective when the times comes.”

“Maybe so…yet we all manage our families in different ways.” She’d mutter back. “Personal matters aside, I do have a small request of you. Joffrey and Sansa had wandered off a while ago. I was hoping you could ask them to come back since it’s nearly lunch.”

“Won’t it be better for the royal guards to find them your grace?”

“Yet you’re better suited for such a task. Many say your tracking skills are unmatched after all. Besides, this surely can’t take long for you.”

Sighing, he guessed arguing wouldn’t help on the matter. “I’ll see what I can do. Any idea where they were last at?”

“Thank you. I remember the two were by the inn before strolling off into the woods. There isn’t be any dangerous beasts in these part, so no need to worry about such dangers.”

“Shouldn’t be too hard then. I’ll have them back in due time.” He’d give a small bow before slipping away, noting the woman’s coy smile as she watched him. She was a quite smug woman…and quite a good actress. She was hiding something about Bran from the subtle reaction he noticed, although it wasn’t any real proof he could use. For now, he felt it be best being in good favor with her by doing this small errand.

Going to the front of the inn, he’d focus his sharp senses to examine the wide mix of foot prints along the ground, quickly picking out two that moved off towards the forest which then began to follow a trail that went closely towards the nearby river. “Heh, the scenic route.” He muttered to himself as he followed along. Soon his sharp ears could hear young voices, although there was more than two from what he could tell. 

Nearing a small clearing by the river, he’d find that Sansa and Joffrey weren’t alone as Arya and a commoner boy was there as well. From what he could tell Arya and the boy had been play fighting with sticks yet for some reason Joffrey was confronting the commoner, his sword out and pressing to the boy’s check. Sansa was standing back with a shocked look while Arya pleaded with the prince to stop. The boy whimpered as the prince slowly cut across his cheek, having a sadistic grin as he drew blood. With his guard down, Arya sudden hit across at his back, making Joffrey yell out in pain and surprise distracting him and giving the commoner boy the chance run away. He’d just duck from a blind slash from the prince, who quickly turned about swinging at Arya who just avoided the attack, tumbling onto her back. 

“I’ll gut you, you little cunt!” He snapped out, sword pointed at her in anger.

Yet already Geralt was on the move, rushing over to the group. “Alright enough of that!” He snapped out, making Joffrey and Sansa give surprised looks seeing the Witcher. Suddenly though, there was a snarl from the bushes as Nymeria rushed out at Joffrey, biting down on his sword arm and making the boy howl in pain. Being tugged down, he struggled as the direwolf thrashed its head about to tear up his sleeve and dig her teeth deeper into his arm until he’d drop his weapon.

“Nymeria stop!” Arya ordered, struggling up to her feet.

“Make her stop please!” Sansa pleaded.

Geralt was quick to reach the direwolf, grabbing her by the back of the neck as he’d growl out. “Let him go!” Nymeria did so, whining as she’d hurry away to Arya who hugged the canine closely. The Witcher kneeled beside Joffrey, the prince teary eyed as he gripped his bloodied arm.

“Gods…i-it mauled me! I can’t feel my arm!” He groaned in pain. 

“Stop squirming. Have to check how bad it is.” The ruined finery got in the way, so he’d rip the torn cloth away to show the deep bite marks the boy had. While bloody, the muscle wasn’t torn from what he could see. “Bleeding badly, yet nothing serious.”

Joffrey bit back pained cries as he’d look to Nymeria, giving a hateful look to the wolf. “Cursed beast! I’ll…I’ll have it skinned for this!” He threatened, making Arya hold onto her companion and give an angry look back at the prince.

“It was an accident…All of it!” Sansa quickly said, mainly towards Geralt with the pleading look.

“We’ll see.” He muttered back before looking back to Joffrey. Tugging the boy up by his uninjured arm. He’d help him stand yet during that time Arya suddenly got up and run. Glancing about, he’d see her bolt into the forest with Nymeria close behind her. “Damn it…”

“They’re running off!” Joffrey snapped out as he’d grasp his injured arm, wincing from the pain while Sansa was quickly at his side, trying to calm him. She seemed to whisper something to him that made compose him, yet he had a frustrated look remaining in his eyes.

“I can see that sire.” The Witcher sighed. “I need to get you back to the inn and get that wound treated to stop the bleeding. Since you can still walk, it won’t be hard to return.” The prince was silent, unable to argue on the matter as the Witcher moved beside him handing the torn sleeve to the prince as a makeshift rag. “Keep pressure on it to slow the bleeding. Let’s move.”

Picking up the boy’s discarded sword, he’d lead to two young nobles back to the inn. Quickly attention was on them and already the servants called for Cersei and a healer. The queen was the first to arrive, a panicked look in her eyes before seeing Joffrey was alive. “Thank the gods.” She gasped as she hurried to him, quickly checking at the bitten arm. “What did this to you?”

“Arya’s beast! It mauled me!” The boy quickly answered while Sansa stood by his side, eyes low and remaining silent.

“You had your sword pointed at the girl. You’re lucky the wolf didn’t go for your throat.” Geralt warned, making the boy gulp nervously.

“We’ll discuss this later. Right now, he needs to be tended to.” Cersei quickly answered back. Soon a servant came with bandages and ointments. “Let’s head inside.” She’d hurry her son into the inn with the servant close behind, shooing any patrons out of their way while Sansa moved to follow. However, Geralt stopped put one arm in her way, giving a calm yet serious look to her. 

“Don’t hurry off. You need to tell me what was going on.” 

The girl glance away from him, nervous by those piercing yellow eyes yet she’d nod. “Alright…”

“Who was the boy Arya was playing with?”

“I…I don’t know his name, the local butcher’s son I believe. He and Arya were fighting with sticks when we found them…not a proper thing for her to do much less with someone like him.” She answered. “Joffrey took offense that the boy was fighting with a noble born and…challenged him.”

“Right…very honorable. Fight a boy with a sword while he has just a stick.” Geralt remarked in dry sarcasm.

“He…wasn’t going to hurt him. Just was trying to scare him off.”

Geralt glanced at the prince’s sword. “Bloodied from what I can tell. Sharp blade…one which he swung at your own sister.” 

“It was in self-defense! She hit him in the back.” Sansa argued. 

“You’d say that still if he gutted her? A foot closer and that would have happened.”

The girl paled sickly at the thought. “Please. Just…go find Arya.” She muttered, hurrying into the inn before the Witcher could argue any further. “Foolish girl. Not sure what she sees in that violent brat.”

As he’d move for the convoy camp, he’d nearly run into Jaime Lannister who was in a hurry for the inn. He was dressed in a quite stylish tanned leather duelist outfit, clothing fitting for the region. Despite his surprise seeing the Witcher, he’d give a more serious look. “Should have known. Trouble seems to follow wherever you go Witcher.” He muttered.

“Good to see you too Sir Jaime.” Geralt answered back formally despite the harsh greeting he received.

“Where is the prince? What happened to him?”

“Got bitten by Arya’s wolf for threatening the girl. It isn’t too serious and is already being tended to.”

“That is good to hear at the least.” Jaime muttered. “Forgive my manners. I am thankful you aided the prince and brought him back swiftly. The news of Joffrey being wounded had me worried.”

“Understandable. He is under your protection after all.”

“Yes…now I must be at his side.” Quickly the blond-haired knight hurried past the Witcher, although be suddenly stopped by him. Giving an odd look to Geralt, he’d recognize Joffrey’s sword in the Witcher’s hands.

“You should return this to him.”

Jaime took the blade without a word before he’d quickly enter the inn, questioning the nearest patron on where the young prince was.

Just as Geralt began to move though, a familiar voice called out from the side. “Geralt! What in the Hell happened.” Ned quickly demanded. One look at the man and the Witcher could tell he had a tried look about him, no doubt from stress and lack of sleep. 

“Long story. Overall it involved your daughters and the prince. Arya’s wolf mauled him and she ran off into the forest.” He’d answer back, being short and direct with his words.

“Arya?” Eddard sighed as he’d rub his brow with one hand. “Please tell me she didn’t get far.”

“Doubtful. Hasn’t been long and she’s on foot. I’ll find her, so don’t worry.”

Ned nodded, calming down slightly. “Good good. Robert should be returning soon from his hunting. He’ll no doubt be troubled by this news and demand to know what happened.”

“Of course. Anyway, I’ll have Arya back as soon as possible, but if I’m not back before sunset, organize a search party.” 

Ned nodded before Geralt hurried off, heading back down the trail to the clearing and then following the path Arya left in her hurry to escape. It was trickier to follow the girl, making him move more slowly to not lose sight of her footprints, yet he knew he was getting close. A good hour passed as it seemed Arya had gotten far and soon he’d hear noise nearby, soft tense breathing coming from a large fallen log. Slowly he’d approach, his footsteps just audible which made the girl quickly become silent, trying to hide herself. 

“I know you’re there Arya.” He calmly spoke out though didn’t received an answer. “I’m not mad at you or Nymeria. I saw what happened. I know it wasn’t you or her fault.” 

For a long moment there was silence before she’d speak up in a low voice. “Could you…come over here please?”

Moving around the fallen log, he’d see Arya sitting back against it with a sad look in her eyes. He’d realize quickly that Nymeria was nowhere in sight as he’d kneel right before her. “Where is Nymeria? Did she get spooked off by me?”

Arya shook her head, taking a shaky breath. “Not by you. By me. I…chased her off.” 

“Why?”

Arya held back a sob. “You know why! Joffrey is going to have them kill her!” She’d look up at Geralt, eyes teary and frustrated. “He started it! He threatened Mycah for no reason! He wanted an excuse to hurt him!”

“I know. I saw the way he was grinning.” Sighing, he’d move to sit beside the girl, being quiet for a long moment. “So Nymeria isn’t going to come back. No doubt she’ll be far away by sunset.”

“Why does that matter?” Arya muttered.

“Means the search party won’t be able finding her. Told them not to come until sunset, so should give her enough time to get away.” 

At that point the girl gave an odd look to the Witcher, confused at what he had just said. “But…didn’t they send you to capture her.”

“No one said anything about capturing. Your father was focused on just finding you.”

Arya gave a soft smile, yet still had a depressed look in her eyes. “What will happen though? I mean…I’ll accept being punished but…”

“But nothing. If I was in your shoes I’d smack that brat of a prince over the head instead of the back.”

She’d giggle at his remark, mood lightening up. “I’m glad Mycah got away. I hope he’ll be alright.”

“Hopefully. I’ll try to find him tomorrow just to be sure.”

Arya nodded, shifting closer beside Geralt which surprised him. “So…can we just stay here for a while? Until the others come.”

Geralt was silent, knowing the girl needed some time and peace for the trouble that was going to come. With one arm around her, he’d keep her close. “Sure. We’ll wait as long as you want.”

She’d nod, leaning against his shoulder before giving a small sob and shaky breath, holding back her tears while Geralt silently looked out into the woods. He swore that his sharp ears could hear the mournful howl of the young direwolf far off in the distance, as if begging to come back.

**…**

The sun had set by now and already voices called out through the woods. At this point Arya shift, waking up as she had drifted asleep beside the Witcher. Glancing at Geralt, she could see he was awake, those cat like eyes glowing faintly in the dim lighting. “Time to go.” He muttered to her, already shifting up to stand, offering a hand to help the girl up. Arya nodded before pulling herself up, dusting off her clothes after sitting around for so long. “I found her!” Geralt called out, making the distant torches and shadowed figures turn about to them. They hurried over, Ned the first to arrive as he’d quickly move to embrace Arya, the girl hugging him back tightly. The two muttered something to each other, Eddard’s face seeming tense at first before softened. Nodding, he’d let go of his daughter before looking to Geralt, giving a respectful nod to the Witcher.

“Thank you for finding and staying with her.” 

Geralt was silent, giving only a faint smile back to the Northern lord as the two regrouped with the search party. The mix of royal and Northerner guards escorted the three back to the inn, Arya staying close to her father as they talk silently with each other. Geralt kept to himself to give the two time to talk over what happened, since he knew everyone would want the full story on what happened. Reaching the Crossroads Inn, they’d be guided inside and into main room which had been clear of the tables. With everything pushed aside, there was enough space the crowd of guards and nobility to gather around. Robert and Cersei sat at the far end of the hall with Joffrey standing close beside them, injured arm in a sling. The king and queen were muttering to each other in a heated discussion, obviously arguing, yet they’d quiet down once the group arrived.

“It’s a good thing you’re found her Ned. Hopefully now we end this matter quickly.” Robert spoke out.

Ned seemed tensed, yet he’d nod in agreement. “Indeed. Is Sansa here as well?”

The young woman stepped out from the crowd, shyly looking at the ground as she’d move to stand beside her family. Ned put a reassuring hand on her shoulder, yet the girl looked no less worried despite the comfort he showed.

“Now then. I want all three of you to tell me what happened. All of it.” Robert said in a deep commanding manner, which had the young nobles gulp nervously.

For half an hour, the three were questioned before crowd about the events that had played out. Joffrey told a tale of how the butcher’s boy had been overly rough while playing with Arya and he stepped in to defend her, only for the boy to attack him. He claimed Arya order her dire wolf to attack him, before then telling how Geralt stepped him to save him. The Witcher was surprised the boy gave him credit in the end, no doubt it was a small show of gratitude for helping him.

Arya’s tale was the most accurate, telling how she met Mycah and they went off into the woods to go playing knights. She told the scene accurately, even admitting to striking Joffrey when he threatened the boy along with the fact the prince had attacked with his sword. The act had made Nymeria defend her, claiming it was in self-defense.

Last with Sansa, her story was a mix of the other two. She claimed Joffrey was simply trying the scare the boy off since it was improper of him to be fighting, even if playing with someone like Arya. Overall, she made it sound like he wasn’t as violent or threatened like Geralt had seen. She admitted that Arya hit him in anger and how he had lashed out at the girl, leading to Nymeria’s attack.

King Robert sighed as he’d rub the side of his head, thinking over the stories the three had told. “Well one thing for sure, Arya attacked my son since the girl confessed it.” Looking at the girl though, Arya kept a straight face to the king, making the man chuckle. “Yet it’s not my place to discipline her. I’ll leave that matter to you Ned.”

“Of course, you grace.” Eddard muttered, seeming relived with the decree.

Joffrey seemed annoyed, no doubt having his own form of punishment in mind, yet he remained silent. Sansa seemed to calm down, knowing her sister would be treated fairly. Cersei though had troubled look on her face.

“Yet what of the boy and dire wolf? Surely they shouldn’t be punished as well?” The queen asked.

At this point Geralt spoke up, getting everyone’s attention on the matter. “Last I checked your grace; the boy got a scar across the cheek from your son. Punishment enough for over a minor matter.” 

The calm yet cold way he spoke had the women shiver slightly, especially with those yellow eyes judging her so. “He was involved. He attacked my son.” She argued.  
“Right…with a stick. Surely the boy was a legend to outmatch the prince armed with steel-” He started.

“Enough arguing you two!” Robert growled out, looking sternly at the Witcher. “Speak out of line with my wife any further and I’ll have you escorted out! I’m grateful for your intervention on this matter, yet you are not the judge of this matter!”

“Of course, sire.” Geralt muttered.

“Anyway…the boy isn’t among us and even if he was I see no reason for harm to come to him. But the dire wolf though…” Pausing, he’d take a deep breath before continuing. “I ask for it to be put down. It is too dangerous to be left alive.”

Arya and Sansa looked heart broken, the younger girl biting back her words though. Ned kept a calm look about him as he’d speak up. “My lord. Nymeria is gone. She ran off after what happened and hasn’t been seen since. I doubt we’ll ever see the wolf again...”

“Yet we do have another.” Cersei spoke up. Seeing the woman’s small cold smile, Geralt knew what the woman had in mind. “If Nymeria isn’t around to pay the price then, Lady will. It is a hard choice, yet a fair one.”

“NO! YOU CAN’T!” Sansa cried out, tears already showing in her eyes as he looked pleadingly to the King and Queen yet focused on Joffrey. The young prince looked back at her, unsure of what to do or say. He seemed to mutter something to his mother, Cersei quickly answered back in a hushed tone to silence him.

“So be it.” Robert muttered as he’d rise from his seat and moving forward to leave the inn, making Eddard and his daughters move aside. “A direwolf isn’t a proper pet for her anyway. Get her a dog.” He’d mutter to Ned. Eddard gave a pleading look to his friend, though the large man didn’t look back at him. Just as the neared leaving the hall, Eddard spoke up to get the King’s attention

“Is that your command…your grace?” He had hesitated on the last word, no doubt refraining calling his friend by his name instead of by title.

Robert glanced back, one hand clenched tightly in frustration. He said nothing as he hurried out of the inn, followed by a few guards. Sansa cried and sobbed more while Arya spoke to her in a low voice, though the older sister seemed to ignore the younger’s words.

“Where is the beast then?” Cersei said, a smug look showing on her face.

“Kept in a pen outside your grace.” One of the King’s Guard answered.

“Good. I think Sir Payne will do the deed. It is his duty as executioner.”

At that point Ned stepped up and spoke sternly to her. “No, your grace. I’ll do it.”

Cersei gave a curious look to the Northern Lord, a hint of amusement showing in her eyes. “Oh? This isn’t some trick is it Lord Stark?”

“No. Lady is part of the North, so it is my duty as Warden to settle this matter.” He calmly explained.

For a moment the queen was silent before nodding. “Very well then. I expect the creature to be dead within the hour.”

Eddard grimly bowed his head as he’d turn to leave, ignoring the muttering pleas of his daughters as he moved to leave the inn. Geralt gave a low growl of anger at what he had just witness. He realized just how cruel and petty Cersei was. She hid it well under that formal attitude while using her position to torment anyone who slighted her or her family. Quickly the Witcher followed Ned, catching up to him just outside the inn.

“Lord Stark, listen to me.” He started before Ned turn about to face him.

“There is nothing else to discuss.” He bluntly stated back to the Witcher.

“You have an hour. Give me a chance to…do something.”

“No. You saw how the King’s mood was after that outburst of yours. He and the queen will suspect you or me if Lady somehow escapes that pen.”

“You could be very well be killing one of the last few dire wolves this world has.”

“Do you think I don’t know that?!” Ned muttered harshly back. “Sansa doesn’t deserve this punishment nor Lady! Yet Robert has made his choice…and because of my duties I must follow it.”

Geralt realized he couldn’t argue any more, since Ned was right. Any escape would be drawn to them and who knew what punishment or conflict it would cause. “Fine then. Make it quick for her. Clean stab for the heart always works.” With that he’d move along to the caravan camp, leaving Ned to do his troubling task. 

Entering the camp, he’d find where his packs were stored and quick get his bedroll out for the night after finding a secluded spot. Resting back, he’d sigh as he’d quickly fall asleep, trying to ignore the frustration he felt after the day’s events.

**…**

Sleeping in to the late morning, Geralt got up and shifted through his pack to get a fresh change of clothes. Ever since reaching farther south, the weather had become warm and summery, making it quite hot for him with the northern leathers and fur he usual had on. Lucky, he had come prepared as he had packed lighter clothes for the south, taking white shirt and leather trousers for the day. He fit on the mix of his champion bracer and the studded wolven glove along with his usual boots. He’d have both sword on his back once finished, leaving his wolf cloak tucked away in his pack. 

He’d head for the inn, needing a good meal to start off the day. Besides he wanted to know if this place’s food was as legendary as everyone said. The main hall of the inn was back to normal after last night’s ‘trial’. Inside, he’d notice that Tyrion and Bronn were at one table, eating quite a hearty breakfast. The dwarf quickly noticed the Witcher and wave him over.

“Rest well Geralt? I heard about what happened yesterday…” He’d ask as the Witcher upped up a short stroll and picked a clean plate and cup set aside on the table.

“Yah…your sister and nephew are becoming hard to like.” He muttered as he’d pick out the last meat pie they had, making Bronn grumble. 

“Wanted that…” Course seeing Geralt’s sharp eyes made him not argue the case.

“Yes. I heard of what my sister demanded, and the story Joffrey told. My nephew does have bad…habits. I blame it on his upbringing and her overprotectiveness.”

Geralt shrugged, not caring about such excuses as he’d started eating. Just a few bites and already he was half-way down with the pie, unable to deny that it was one of the best he had in years. “So…any news to share with me?” He’d asked the dwarf after a while eating.

“I have been talking with the servants. Asking them about my sister’s plans and habits during her stay at Winterfell. I can confirm that she wasn’t at the keep when Bran left to go climbing.” The dwarf said in a low hushed voice. 

“Interesting. Anything else?”

“More of rumors then anything. There has been talk of a historic marriage across the Narrow Sea in Essos. The banished children of the Targaryen line have revealed themselves after so many years in hiding.”

“Targaryen’s, I thought they were all wiped out during the rebellion?”

“Ah not these two. They were smuggled away by loyalists during the fall of King’s Landing. The last male heir is Viserys and the last daughter is his sister Daenerys. The rumors go that Viserys arranged for his sister to marry one of Essos’s most powerful Khals, Khal Drogo.”

“Khal? Sorry, you’re going to have to explain a bit about Essos culture. Haven’t spent much time reading up on them.”

“Fair point. A Khal is a warlord of the Dothraki, a culture of warrior horse raiders. They control a loose empire of sorts among the inland of Essos. They mainly plague the villages and towns out of reach of the Free Cities, yet every so often they attack them every few decades.” Tyrion explained. “Point is Drogo is a legend among his people. Young, strong and charismatic with a horde rumored to be a hundred thousand strong.”

Geralt was baffled at such a number. “Damn…not even all the cavalry between the Northern Kingdoms and Nilffguard could match that number.”

“Thing is, King Robert worries the Targaryens are readying for an invasion. That kind of army could ravage the Seven Kingdoms if it was let loose.”

Geralt shrugged. “Think that is hard to believe. Numbers never ensures victory.”

Bronn chuckled and nodded. “Damn right. I know a Dothraki Bloodrider may be tough, but I doubt they could beat armored pikemen or take a fortified keep. Savages hardly know how to properly siege.”

“Besides, wonder how they’d get so many across the Narrow Sea. Bet they never sailed on boat before.”

Tyrion sighed at this point. “Fine, you two have made some good points. If anything, I think Robert is just eager for a new war along with wiping out the Targaryens. Those seem to be the only two real passions besides his usual vices.”

“From the tales I know of the man, he was a legend on the field. Great commander and unmatched in personal combat, although the years haven’t been kind to him ever since.” Bronn remarked. “What I can tell, the big warriors of today pale to him…like that Hound fellow.”

“What about him?” Geralt questioned.

“Eh, man maybe big and strong, yet a bit short on the wit. Besides he’s a push over deep down with the way that Joffrey boy was talking to him earlier. Kid insult me like that I’d smack him over the head.”

At this point Geralt started to realize something bad was happening. “Any idea what it was about?”

“Something about finding commoner boy. The prince seemed pretty pissed and the way the Hound was fiddling with his sword…well…doubt you’d want to be the fellow meeting him.”

At that point Geralt suddenly got up from his seat and began to hurry out, leaving Bron and Tyrion confused. “Oi!? What are you hurry off to like that?” Bronn yelled out yet by then the Witcher had left the inn. Outside, he was quickly looking about down the roads, trying to get an idea where Sandor could have road off. 

“You.” He quickly said to a nearby stable hand. “The Hound. Where he rode off to.”

“I...Umm…westward. Road to the nearby village sir.” The young man answered nervously before Geralt was running off in that direction. 

He cursed as he realized he should have expect Joffrey to do this as he’d cut through the thin woodlands, trying to shorten the route. Nearing the road again, he could hear a horse galloping along with a panicked yell followed by hurried running. Soon he could see what was going on as Sandor was chasing after Mycah on horseback, his large sword out ready to cut the boy down. 

“No please!” The boy begged as he continued to run, yet the scarred warrior didn’t slow down. Geralt spirted forward through the brush, rushing out from the side as he’d tackle Mycah to the ground just as the Hound’s blade slashed low for the boy’s back. The blade just missed Geralt’s shoulder, ripping the cloth yet not cutting the skin. For a moment the boy struggled before realizing who it was that just saved him. “Y-You…you’re the white haired one!” He stammered in shock as Geralt stood up, facing down Sandor. 

“Back off Witcher. This doesn’t bloody concern you.” The man growled as he paced his horse about, readying for another charge.

Geralt was silent, calmly drawing his steel sword as he stared down the Hound who gave an eager grin.

“Really? You plan to protect this brat? So honorable.” Sandor jested.

“Last chance to back off Hound. Tell your master that the kid got away.” Geralt warned.

Sandor growled in annoyance as he’d then kick his horse into a charge, rushing at the Witcher while Mycah hurried away for the brush for cover. As the charging warrior neared though, Geralt smirked as he’d made the Axii sign quickly. While it was weak, he knew the spell muddled the horse’s mind as the creature seemed daze, its charge coming to a sudden stop. “What the hell?!” Sandor was caught off guard as the halting horse had him tumble off, yet he rolled with it and was quickly on his feet, facing off against the Witcher.

“What did you do? Made some…gesture with your hand.” He demanded as he held up his large sword.

However, Geralt rushed in to attack, moving so that Sandor had a look of surprise on his scarred face. Sandor was quick to react, twisting his blade upward to guard against the charging attack. Grunting out, he’d stagger back from the strong blow yet move to swing back at the Witcher. In just the blink of an eye Geralt had side stepped, moving inhumanly fast as he’d slash out at again at the Hound’s side. The large man barely had enough time to twist about to block the attack, locking blades for a moment before Geralt shifting his stance again and attacked from another direction.

Again, and again he was forced to block as the Witcher went into a flurry of attacks, body twisting and turning to put more power behind every rapid blow. Sandor growled out as he was forced on the defensive, unable to parry or dodge away fast enough without having to block another attack. In the end he took a big leap back to just escape Geralt’s reach, yet the tip of the Witcher’s blade just grazed across his iron chest piece. Glancing at it, he saw how the metal was sliced open, just protecting him from a gash across the chest. He had known the Witcher had a fine weapon yet the way it cut seemed like Valyrian steel.

“I don’t understand? You weren’t this fast before…” He growled between breaths as Geralt relaxed his fighting stance.

“That’s because I’m being serious. No spoiled prince to entertain this time.”

For a moment the Hound was still, looking at the Witcher with a tense gaze. No doubt he was rethinking everything he knew about Geralt. Knowing the fact that he had been holding back made Sandor hesitant, unsure of how he should approach this. Gripping his weapon tightly in his hands, he’d suddenly lower his blade and sheath it.

“Don’t have the time for this.” He growled. “The boy isn’t worth the damn trouble.”

For a moment Geralt remained on guard before sheathing his own sword. “Smart move.”

Sandor moved to his horse, pulling himself up back onto the saddle. “Hope saving that brat was worth it. If anything, you only spared him a quick end.” He grumbled.

The Witcher didn’t even remark back at the threat as the Hound rode off back towards the inn, kicking his mount hard in his frustration. Soon Geralt’s attention was then onto the brush where Mycah poked his head out, eyes wide in shock after what happened. Standing up, he’d moving back onto the road yet seeming nervous with the Witcher.

“Y-You saved me. Thought that man was going to r-run me down and chop me up.” He stammered fearfully. “Wait you’re that man from yesterday. You saved me that prince fellow.” He’d gulp nervously, seeming fearful again.

“Calm down. Not here to hurt or kill you. If anything, that was the Hound’s job.” He assured the boy.

“What…that was the Hound?!” The boy looked flabbergasted at the news. “Man is supposed to be a beast, yet you battled him with ease!”  
Geralt shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. Point is you’re alive and should be going home now.”

“W-What if he comes back…or the prince sends more? They could hurt my family.”

“Doubt Joffrey will go that far. Still I recommend you head home quickly and stay low for a week at least.”

The boy calmed down slightly yet nodded. “I…guess I can do that.” He’d shift a bit towards the west side of the road yet glanced back at the Witcher. “Umm…so what is you name sir?”

“Geralt. Just Geralt.”

The boy gave a small smile and nod. “Well Geralt. Thank you for saving me. I’ll try to be safe from now on but well…look out for yourself!’ Quickly he’d hurry off, soon disappearing down the bend of the road. Giving a small sigh, he already wondered if this was the best choice and he hadn’t just put the boy’s family at risk. In the end though the choice had been made, he just hoped it was the right one. He’d look eastward and walk back to the inn, taking his time returning there.

…

Geralt arrived back at the inn and caravan camp, noting how the servants were busy packing up supplies and other belongings. From what he heard they planned to continue onto King’s Landing which would take another week with the slow caravan. Considering the last stretch, he could get there in just a few days. Still it gave him time to discuss matters about the Wall and of Bran with Lord Eddard. He made sure to collect the lists that Lord Commander had given him along with the wrapped up Thann axe to show to Ned. He’d be directed to the carriage that the new Hand of the King was staying at, finding the door to it open when he arrived. He’d knock at the door before stepping in, finding Ned was busy reading over reports, mostly related to the upcoming tournament and its costs.

“Morning Lord Stark.”

Eddard didn’t look away from the papers or answer back for a long moment yet spoke up in the end. “Ah…morning Geralt.” As the Witcher walked around the table, he could see hints of dark rings under the man’s eyes.

“Everything alright? Look like you’re going to pass out.” Geralt asked.

Ned sighed deeply. “I’m fine. Last night was just…difficult.” Shaking his head, he’d look up at the Witcher. “I take it you didn’t come here to just check up on me. You no doubt want to report how things are at the Wall and Castle Black.”

“Indeed.” Setting down the Lord Commander’s report, Ned started to read over the different pages. He’d mutter a few words every so often yet soon he’d shift the papers aside and look up at Geralt. “The Lord Commander has quite large demands, though with most of his requests. The Wall is undermanned, supplied and Castle Black is barely being held together. He’s not asking for you to rebuilt and staff the many other keeps, just get Castle Black defenses up.”

“The reports do speak of increased Wildling movements before both north and south of the Wall…”

At the point Geralt hefted the covered axe onto the table which creaked under the large weapon’s weight. “That is also correct. Thing is we had another run in with them when heading north.” He’d tug the cloth off the weapon revealing the ornate yet deadly axe. The look on Ned’s face showed that he knew what this was, making him glance back at the door and quickly close it before anyone outside noticed.

“How many?”

“Eight, with the Thann leading them.”

Eddard rubbed over his bearded chin, a serious look showing across his face. “Makes twenty raiders then. With the far north under-watched it will be easy for such parties to build up in strength and fortify while more slip over to the south.”

“In turn they’ll have Castle Black cut off and may even take the castle from the southern side. If they do that there will be nothing stopping them letting the whole Wildling Horde loose.”

“What are your estimates for such an attack?”

“With what the Watch has now, it would take only a small force to do so, maybe a fifty. If they have the element of surprise and proper equipment, their chances are higher.”

Ned nodded after a while thinking over what was shared. “Then this is a matter Robert can’t ignore. If he does then I’ll seriously question him on his reasoning, though I fear the costs and effort may be hard to match up.”

“I do know the Kingship is low on funds. Talks about increasing debts and mismanagement has been among the rumors.”

“More of truths.” Ned slid over some of the papers he had been reading earlier. “Look at the costs. This tournament is already a fortune in such setting up and supply, yet the prize money for the different events…well they could fund a small army for a long while.”

“Ninety thousand crowns in total!” Geralt was baffled at that amounting. “Didn’t realize it was that much. Makes sense why Tyrion wants to fund me for the tournament as well.”

“Wait…Lord Tyrion wants to sponsor you? I’ll admit I had nearly forgotten you were invited to join the event with all my other duties distracting me.” Thinking for a moment, a realization came to Eddard. “What of your investigation about what happened to Bran? Did you get any insight from Tyrion?”

“I know that he wasn’t involved. After that Wildling attack, he promised to help me in part of being indebted having saved his life. So far, he can say his sister was missing around the time of Bran’s fall, so Queen Cersei was most likely at the tower at the time.” Pausing, he’d continue to speak though. “There is some good news as well. When I visited Winterfell Bran woke up.”

Eddard gave a surprised look, the tired hint on his face instantly gone. “Gods…that…that is good to know. I’ll be sure to send a raven to him when I can.”

“However, there are issues to discuss about Winterfell and your son as well.”

He’d spend the next hour detailing the assassination attempt on Bran along with Catelyn learning the truth of the boy’s fall, leading to her leaving Winterfell and hurrying in secret to King’s Landing. The overall news has an angered look show on Ned’s face.

“So…a conspiracy grows around what my son saw, while my wife rushes blindly into it.” He’d grip his hands tightly into fists, frustrated at his lack of control over these events. “When we reach the capital, I will have the guards on watch for Cat. Be it ship or road, we’ll know when she’ll arrive. Hopefully we’ll stop her from doing anything rash.”

Geralt nodded in agreement. “I feel we should shift our attention from Bran’s fall to learning who hired the assassin. The tower incident is a dead end for now, yet the assassin leaves a key clue which your wife has.”

“Yes…the Valyrian steel dagger. Such a weapon is one of a kind and it can easily be traced with the right sources.” Ned thought for a moment. “I have some ideas on who can help us trace the weapon, yet that will have to wait until we reach King’s Landing.”

“I do have some suspects…nothing official yet possibilities.”

“I’d rather not jump to any conclusion to hastily Geralt.”

“I know that and I’m not implying any are guilty, only that they are individuals who would gain from Bran’s death.”

Ned sighed, before giving a small nod. “Very well. Share your thoughts.”

“We know for certain the Lannisters are involved. You can count Tyrion out because he wasn’t at the tower and has no reason to seek harm to Bran. We can confirm Cersei was in the tower, yet if she caused Bran’s fall or simply witness it we cannot be sure. However, I doubt she’d hire an assassin, much less arm one with such a unique weapon.”

“Care to explain?”

“I don’t know Cersei that well, yet she’s far more cunning then she seems. She wouldn’t give someone a weapon like that if it had even the slightest chance to be connected to her in any way. An assassin, especially one so amateur as this one could trace back to her if he had been captured and questioned.”

“So, then could have planned this?”

Geralt was hesitant, before he’d speak. “Cersei spoke to me when I arrived yesterday. We talked about Bran and she mentioned hearing King Robert’s thoughts on the matter. The King seemed to view Bran’s crippling as a…suffering.”

From the way Ned’s gaze hardened, he could tell that the Northern Lord didn’t like what was being said. “You best not be implying what I think.”

“You wanted my thoughts. I’m telling you them. If you wish me to stop then say it.” Eddard was silent, being all the Witcher needed to continue. “You know Robert has a tough outlook on life. Even in his unfit state he is a warrior by heart. He’d rather die to a blade then be crippled or sickly. That’s his view point of life, which he views onto others.”

“Get to the point Geralt…” Ned said almost with a growl.

“Robert could have hired the assassin, seeing the act as a mercy killing for your son.”

Eddard had quite a fierce look at Geralt, yet the Witcher kept that calm look. “I don’t believe that.”

“Neither do I, but I can’t rule it out.”

“It’s against everything I know about Robert…” 

“Maybe there is a lot you don’t know about him…maybe a lot about him has changed in twenty years.”

“Enough of matter. I rather deal in facts not theories.”

Geralt sighed and nodded. “As you wish. All that aside…I take we just have to wait until King’s Landing.”

By now Eddard had calmed down as he nodded in agreement. “Yes. I think the best moment to bring up the Wall and the invading Wildlings will be at the Small Council. If we make our case before the other members, they can possibly gain the support needed for the Night’s Watch requests.” He’d sort out all the papers before looking to the axe. “For now, keep that weapon hidden and safe. It will be the best proof we have.”

Geralt picked up and rewrapped the weapon, hefting it off the table once more. “Then we wait until then. Call for me if you have anything else you wish to discuss over.”

“Of course.” Ned muttered as Geralt moved to leave yet the Northern Lord suddenly spoke up. “One thing Geralt, thank you for saving that boy.”

The Witcher glanced back, curious at how the man knew. 

“I saw the Hound come back with quite the angered look. Knowing his role serving Joffrey…well…not hard to deduce.” Ned gave a small smile of gratitude. “Enjoy your evening Geralt.”

Geralt was silent, yet deep down appreciated the compliment. He’d leave the carriage room, closing the door behind him before going and repacking the Wildling axe safely away in his private spot. Just as he finished, he’d hear someone call out for him.

“Geralt! There you are!” Tyrion yelled as the dwarf hurried over, Bronn following close behind him.

“Crazy bastard. You left us baffled after you ran off like that.” Bronn muttered.

“Sorry. Just remember something very important.”

“Ah no harm in the end yes? We still have half a day left to ourselves. How about we just waste the day with drinks and stories while we can? Doubt we’ll have that much freedom down at the capital.”

Geralt smirked and shrugged at the idea. “You know, that’s not a bad idea. Better to enjoy ourselves while we can.”

“Heh, bet twenty crowns I’ll have you under the table by the end of the night Witcher.” Bronn challenged with a smug grin as the trio head for the inn.

“Careful Bronn, if you knew the stuff I drank you’d back down on that challenge.”

“As you say white hairs. Fine then first round is on you then!”

Tyrion chuckled at how the two boasted and taunted at each other. He already knew this evening be an entertaining one and a fine end to this long trip.

**…**

Any worries Geralt had were washed away with strong drink and amusing chatter as he, Tyrion and Bronn enjoyed the inn’s bar for the whole evening and night. He had to admit that this world had quite its special share of drinks, although during his half drunken tales he did boast about the unique ales and beers from back home. Soon even he lost track of events though remembered an out drinking everyone except for Tyrion in the end. It baffled Geralt how someone barely half his size could hold his own, although he remembered that being a mutant seemingly didn’t enhance his alcohol tolerance. By the time his head cleared up, Tyrion had staggered away with a hundred crowns and Bronn had crawled off to his room in the inn.

“Ugh…going to be a crazy tale to share with others when I get back.” Geralt muttered, as he rubbed his head. Taking one of the emptied bottles, he got a bit of water to help clear his head as he’d head outside. The camp was peaceful unlike yesterday with the trial that had happened. Pacing around the inn, he did pause when he stared at the pen where Lady had been caged up. Already he wondered how the dire wolf felt…no doubt confused and scared over what was happening. “Always the innocent ones…” He muttered as he’d sip his drink and move along the road. 

Glancing up, he could see it was a full moon tonight, casting a cool light across the area. Oddly the surroundings felt…familiar in a strange way. Suddenly he’d hear a male voice, a calm and cheerful one that seemed quite close. The words he sung though were haunting to the Witcher’s ears.

**_His smile fair as spring, as towards him he draws you_ **

The voice was coming from around the other side of the inn, at the intersection where all the main roads met. Curious yet on guard, he’d move closer as he followed the voice.

**_His tongue sharp and silvery, as he implores you  
Your wishes he grants, as he swears to adore you ___**

__  
__  


__Rounding the building, he’d see the open crossroads. At the center was as sturdy sign post that directed off to the many different keeps and towns spread out in all directions. Yet there was someone sitting on top of the highest sign, the one marked as ‘King’s Landing’, thy're back facing Geralt._ _

**_Gold, silver, jewels – he lays riches before you_ **

The figure was a man with buzz cut hair, although he couldn’t see his face from this angle. His clothes were simple yet quite colorful with greenish top and blue trousers along with a pair of worn yet fine leather boots. There was a satchel set across his back, filled with scrolls and papers along with a dagger set on his right hip.

__****_ **Dues need be repaid, and he will come for you  
All to reclaim, no smile to console you** _

At this point Geralt had a realization of who this was. A mix of feeling came to him, snapping the drunken daze that lingered in his head. Already he was questioning how this was possible yet remember that this person…no this thing…could easily slip between worlds just like Ciri. Part of him felt like to turn away, though deep down he knew this being could help him. But thinking of the cost…had him hesitate.

**_He’ll snare you in bonds, eyes glowing’, a fire  
To gore and torment you, till the stars expire_ **

The song ended and at that point the figure would shift about, turning on the sign post to face towards Geralt. His face was very unremarkable, a look that you could never notice or remember seeing twice. The man had a friendly look, yet Geralt knew better as he saw sharp cunning eyes, sly and calculating. Looking at the Witcher, the man grinned as if seeing an old friend.

“Geralt. My favorite Witcher…now this is a surprise indeed.” The man chuckled while Geralt gave a calm yet serious look back at him. “Why so quiet friend? Aren’t you happy to see good old Gunther O’Dimm?”

…


	13. Seasons 1 - Episode 12: The Man of Glass

**Chapter 12: The Man of Glass**

****

****

…

Geralt stared down Gaunter, the man keeping that friendly grin even as the Witcher gave that cold gaze to him. He had encounter many strange and powerful beings throughout his life. The most powerful spirits, ancient relicts like the Hags and even Djinn. Yet O’Dimm was something else, a being that didn’t follow the normal rules or categories of any monster of his world or beyond. Stopping time, controlling weather, teleporting, reality bending and steal souls. He was certain that was just a fraction of Gaunter’s abilities and he was not eager to see any more of his tricks.

“What are you doing here O’Dimm?” Geralt calmly questioned.

“What do you mean exactly? If you mean this inn specifically it’s for the food. Every century they always have something new and pleasing to eat.” The man chuckled. “As for this world…well…I considering it a fascinating drama to watch.”

“Drama? You make it sound you’re watching some sort of play.”

“Ah because it is. Every time there is something new. The Doom of Valyeria. The Targaryen Conquest. The Dance of Dragons. Robert’s Rebellion.” He'd give a small smirk. “And now this…I wonder what will play out with you being here. I can say you’re really shaken things up ever since you’ve arrived here.”

“So are you spouting history or trying to make a point?” Geralt asked sternly.

Gaunter kept that sly smile despite the Witcher’s rudeness. “Tell me. What have you noticed about this world? I’m sure you’ve taken the time to read up on its history quite deeply.”

Geralt nodded. “For one this world is nearly magically dead. Seems like the Doom you mentioned ended that era. Such things are expected throughout a world’s history, like how it is for the elves magic and might waning back home.” Thinking for a moment though he would continue. “Also the world itself…it feels stagnate.”

“Indeed.” Gaunter simply remarked as he leaned back on his sign post perch. “I’ve been to many worlds Geralt. Places that would dazzle and confound you. I’m sure Ciri has shared a few tales of her own otherworldly travels.

“Yah…pretty wild stories considering talk of flying metal carriages and cities made of glass towers. Makes even the elves even at their grandest sound simple while the human empires look completely primitive. So, what’s your point?”

“Doesn’t this land seem odd to you? Thousands of years of history yet it’s has barely advanced in intellectual studies and technology. Perhaps it is the constant warring and conflict constantly getting the way or maybe a supernatural force holding things back.” Yet Gaunter shrugged. “Could just be that the humans here are simply stupid.”

“Get to the point Gaunter. I already feel this is becoming a waste of my time.”

“Being so dismissive. You seem to forget Geralt of what often happens when you middle in the affairs of others…be it on a personal or broader level. No matter your intentions be it misguided nobility or selfish gain, you bring change and chaos.”

The Witcher’s eyes narrowed at the claim, remembering plenty of other supernatural beings saying such claims. “So that’s it? I’m an amusing wild card to you?”

“Yes…along with Ciri.”

Just hearing her name had a surprised look show on Geralt’s face, the kind of reaction that Gaunter was expecting. Yet it was short lived as the Witcher’s face became stern once more. “Where is she?”

“Heh focused on her still? After our matter with Olgierd was finished you didn’t hesitate to ask me to save her, even with the promises of riches and power.”

Geralt was silent, keeping that calm yet cold stare at O’Dimm.

“I wonder…I never got your final thoughts on Olgierd after collecting his ‘payment’. Do you feel any regrets for condemning a man’s soul to eternal torment?”

“What does it matter? He’s dead and gone. Nothing more than a blackened skull in your collection.”

“So defensive.” Gaunter sighed, tapping one foot against the sign post pointing northward to Winterfell. “Consider this my price to gain answers about Ciri. I do always enjoy your blunt insight after all.”

It was an odd demand, yet a simple ‘price’ to learn more about Ciri’s whereabouts. Right now he was desperate, even if it meant getting answers from Gaunter. For a while the Witcher thought back to the many weeks he spent fulfilled the immortal noble’s wishes, nearly impossible tasks considering. Lucky he was known for doing the impossible. “Olgierd was a man giving many chances in life. He started with more than most would in their lives, yet he craved more and became a bandit for just the thrill. However karma seemed to follow him as he soon became buried under debt and misfortune which led him to…” 

“…seeking me out.” Gaunter finished. “Please continue.”

“You offered him three wishes to reverse his bad luck, though at a grim cost. A loved one’s life. It is an evil price, yet you didn’t force it and Olgierd willing accepted it knowing the outcome. He tried to reason away the guilt, but he knew deep down it was wrong. However he decided to gain immortality despite not considering the risks or changes it have on himself.”

“Like many he thought such a power would be simple to have  
“While you did replace his heart with stone which in turn hardened his feelings, it doesn’t excuse his choices. Again and again it was for selfish gain, no matter who suffered. The prince from Ofir, his wife Iris, her family…countless others…they all paid for his choices.”

“So in the end what drove him? The stone of heart I gave or himself?” O’Dimm questioned.

“Himself. Even when he felt nothing, he continued to do selfish acts. He had plenty chances in his life to do something positive or back away from making more deals with you, but he didn’t. Even when it came down to the ultimate price with his life, he was selfish as he did everything he could to avoid paying up.” Giving a sigh, he would give a sharp look at the ‘humble’ merchant. “Olgierd deserved it in the end. That aside, he did screw me over on a personally with the Toad Prince contract…and having you tangled up in my life.”

Gaunter clapped his hands after that Witcher’s speech, seeming quite pleased in the end. “Quite the logical reasoning. In the end I can see why you didn’t try to save him.”

“What did you expect?”

The man shrugged innocently. “I know how you looked into my past by visiting that blind professor who proved too…curious for his own good. You could have challenged me, risk it all to banish me for a few centuries and save him. In the end though you knew better.” At this point he would hop off the signpost, landing effortlessly to the ground. “Call me what you will. The Devil. Evil Incarnate. In the end mortals like Olgierd or Radovid are far worse in the end. For me…I am just a vagrant merchant after all and serving the needs of others.” For a moment Geralt thought he saw the man’s appearance change, skin becoming grey, eyes a piercing red and features unnatural angler. It was just a slit second, but it was enough to have his heart racing in rare fear.

For a long moment the two shared down each other, Gaunter’s face relaxed and cheery while Geralt cold and expressionless. “So…I’ve answered you question. Now tell me everything you know about Ciri.”

O’Dimm chuckled, nodding in agreement. “Yes a deal is a deal. I am a man of my word after all.” He’d slowly pace closer as he continued to speak. “Ciri is currently lost between space and time. You see Geralt, her Elder Blood is powerful indeed but even it is bound to rules and limitations, just like me. As you mentioned this world’s magic is thin, cut off from other worlds because of disconnection and distance. The only reason she and you arrived here was because of the Tower gate which offered a direct link here.”

“Yah I know that much. The gate was meant to reach the prime world of the White Frost, so she could stop it.”

“Yes…but something went wrong didn’t it?” Gaunter pointed out, making Geralt growl in frustration. “She didn’t succeed, which led you rushed in blindly after her.”

“Doesn’t matter. Finish your explanation!” 

The man sighed. “Very well. As I have said, this world is isolated. With the magic so thin it can meddle with how magic or similar powers work. At some point Ciri was in a dire situation and used her warping ability. Thus…”

“The thin magic. It’s not letting her return back.” Geralt finished in realization.

“Very good! Heh, for a man who hates portals and teleportation, you seem to have an understand on how they work.”

Geralt remained focused on the matter though. “So Ciri is trapped in space and time. Unable to pull herself to back to this world because of it’s weak magic or draw herself to another world because of distance. Is she in any danger?”

“She should be safe. From my estimates she should be in a from of stasis within time itself. If she ever is freed it will few like moments for her.”

Thinking for a moment, a realization came to Geralt. “Wait…if the magic here is so thin, how can you visit here so freely?”

“Simple. I’m not like Ciri. As I said, we all follow different rules and I have special ways of getting around.” 

A grim thought came to Geralt, one that had him sick to the gut. “So…what will it take to get her back?”

“Pardon?”

“Aren’t you going to say it? Offer yank her back into the present in exchange for my soul or something?”

Gaunter’s face had a hint of surprise to it before the man chuckled and then broke out into laughter. For a while he laughed, yet seeing the Witcher’s dead serious look, he quickly quieted down. “Heh you really mean it. Didn’t think you’d be that desperate.” Thinking for a moment, giving a small sigh though. “Sadly I can’t agree to such an offer, even if it is that tempting.”

“How come?”

“Because in the end I can’t up hold the end of the deal. I can’t bring Ciri back.”

“What? I thought with your abilities that be a simple task.”

O’Dimm sighed, rolling his eyes a bit. “You simply lack understanding of how difficult it is. Imagine trying to pluck a grain of sand that is moving at the speed of light within a vast emptiness with nothing more than tweezers. That is how difficult it is to find Ciri.”

In the end Geralt calmed down, guess that even the supernatural merchant had limits. “So then. If you can’t bring her back, then what can?”

The man thought for a moment, pacing about a bit before speaking. “A summoning ritual of the highest level would work. Issue of course is would require at least three magic users of great power which are sadly lacking along in this world. Even if you could bring your friends from your own world, they’d quickly lose their power and thus make such a task impossible to do.”

“Right…so what else?  
”  
“An artifact of great power could do, yet most of those are destroyed or lost in the ruins of Valyria. Such a trek would be long and dangerous though…besides I’m unsure of the Valyrian’s has such powerful magic.”

“So far your ideas aren’t helping Gaunter.” Geralt grumbled.

“Just sharing all possible choices, no matter how unlikely. Besides the last one is beyond any of our control.”

“Fine then. Still tell me anyway.”

“A natural reawakening of magic. Something like the Conjunction would do, yet there is little chance of that happening. Besides that there is nothing else I can think of.” 

Sighing, Geralt glanced at his bottle of water before chugging down what was left, hoping to get the last bit of alcohol to numb the frustration he felt. Yet there wasn’t much to be had, making him grumble before throwing the glass bottle off into the brush. “So what now? Unless you have anything else to say, I think this is where we part ways.”

“So quick to say goodbye?” O’Dimm chuckled. “Again I do apologize about Ciri, yet there is another dire matter remaining…that is if you haven’t forgotten about it.”

It took Geralt s moment to realize what the merchant was meaning. “The White Frost. Damn it, I’ve been caught up in so much that I nearly forgot about it.” Yet thinking further, a worried look came to him. “Wait…what about home? The Northern Kingdoms, Yenn, Triss and everyone else.”

“Slow down.” Gaunter muttered before strolling past the Witcher. “All this talk as me parched. Why don’t we continue our chat inside?” Already the man was moving towards the inn, making Geralt hesitant to follow. In the end though he did, knowing that Gaunter was his only reliable source of information on events beyond this world. 

Back inside the inn, the place was seemingly cleared out of patrons, with only the late night staff busy cleaning about. Soon as Gaunter entered the main room, the fat middle-aged woman who owned the place gave a grin seeing the man. “Ah Gaunter! Always a late arrival as always.” The woman chuckled.

“The roads have remained the same all these years Masha. I’ve found I always reach my destinations at the same time no matter what.” Gaunter replied back in a friendly manner. “The usual for me and whatever my good friend he wants.”

“Just light ale for me.” Geralt muttered before the woman nodded, heading behind the bar to get their orders.

The merchant moved for an empty table set in one corner, relaxing back in his seat with a sigh. “So then…back to the topic. I can say things have calmed down back in your world. The Wild Hunt is completely wiped yet since the battle a winter has crept across the Northern Realms.”

“How serious?”

“Eh…Mild considering, yet with the war in the North wrapping up, most won’t be prepared for it. It has only been a few weeks at least.”

“Weeks?” Geralt started yet realized the time was no doubt different between worlds. No doubt years could pass here yet it be months back home.

O’Dimm noticed the Witcher’s reaction, deciding to continue his explanation. “Your friends have been worried since you and Ciri disappeared. That strange elf has been trying hard to contact you, even with so many powerful sorceresses aiding him. They haven’t given up…perhaps blind hope in trying to save you.”

For a while Geralt glanced away, a bit taken aback knowing everyone still believed in him and Ciri. It was funny that Avallac'h was trying so hard to help, considering his last conversation was him threatening the elf. “Guess that is good news to hear.”

At that point the inn keeper would arrive with their orders, setting a fresh meat pie and mug of apple cider for Gaunter who grinned at the sight. “Just enough for one last pie Gaunter. I hope it will be to your liking.”

“You’re a saint Masha as always.” The merchant opened the purse around his neck, handing a golden crowns to the woman, a payment much higher than the meal given.

“And you my most generous costumer.” The woman said with a pleased smile before hurrying back to the bar.

“Such a goodly and talented woman. I’m thankful you’ve spared her future with your choices.” The man remarked as he’d take a testing sip from his mug, giving a pleasing grin at the taste.

“Spared?” Geralt questioned in a confused manner.

“Never mind that. Anyway the White Frost itself...I’ll admit this is the prime world, the place it originates.”

“That true? If so, it’s doing a poor job considering.” 

“Again you forget about the rules of time and space. Just because the Frost hasn’t consumed this world now, doesn’t mean it hasn’t already in the future. It’s a complex matter…but even so this place has resisted the endless winter many times.” Shrugging, he’d reach down to a pouch at his belt before taking out a worn wooden spoon. While it looked so plain and ordinary, Geralt knew better. If anything he felt more worry about that then any weapon or monster he had faced. However the man simply began to eat his pie, yet noticed the Witcher’s tense reaction. “Just a spoon Geralt.” He remarked with a sly grin.

“Right…” The Witcher muttered before taking a drink from his mug of all. “Anyway I have been quick to research about anything that could be related to the Frost. The best link is the far North, beyond the Wall and involving these beings called the White Walkers.”

“Yes. I can say I’ve had the same deduction for a good while.” The merchant muttered back between bites of pie. “I have seen many things Geralt. The White Walkers are something different…”

“Are? So you mean they do exist?”

“They do. I haven’t strayed too close to far north, yet the power I sense is…alien at best. Not certain if the Walkers are the source of the Frost or a physical manifestation of it. Could be that because of this world’s resistance and they’re more direct means of spreading.” Giving another shrug, he'd take a few more bites of pie. “Whatever they are they’ve existed for thousands of years and have been building up their strength for half that time. I doubt the humans of this world will be able to repel them like they did in ages past.”

He remembered the haunting vision he had of Ciri being bested by a strange icy creature which he could only guess was a White Walker. Considering the odd crown like horns it had, he guessed it must have been a leader or higher ranked member of its kind. “Yes. If the stories I’ve read are true, these things are worse than the Wild Hunt.” Glancing up at Gaunter, he would continue to speak. “So…what will it take to stop them?”

 

“Ciri, yet even then I doubt she will be enough. Her first attempt in facing the Frost was her best chance to end it, but with that failure such an opening won’t happen again.” The merchant calmly stated as he finish the last of his pie and washed it down with cider. “However, with you here…there may still be a hope for this world.”

“I swear if you start babbling about fate I will hit you.” Geralt threatened, making O’Dimm laugh out at such a bold threat.

“Not at all. It’s just you’re this world’s best chance now.” The man calmly explained. “Your knowledge, experience and fighting skill is unmatched here. The prime champion to rise up for the people.”

The mention had a grim feeling come to Geralt, thinking to years back when he defeated the Grand Master, a man who believed himself such an individual. “You’re wrong.”

“You lie to yourself. Already you have friends and allies. Think back to Kaer Morhen and the final battle of the Wild Hunt. In the end you were the one who gathered such a powerful force and led them, besting an enemy who outnumber and outmatched you. Deep down under that lone wolf mindset, there is a leader within you.” The way Gaunter spoke, he sounded overly grandiose which didn’t help Geralt’s mood.

“Enough.” Geralt muttered. “If you have nothing better to say, I think I’ll be leaving about now.”

“Ah…true. I have kept you up as it is.” Gaunter would stand up and stretch a bit as he pace around the table. “Yet I do have a few parting gifts and advice. Overall I warn you to watch yourself in King’s Landing. You won’t find a city with more backstabbing nobles then there. Chose well who you trust.”

“And a gift? What’s the catch?”

“No catch. Considering our long chat the price for it. Besides, with what is to come you’ll need all the help you can get.” The man smirked a bit as he continue on towards the inn’s exit. “Good fortune Witcher. Expect us to meet again.” With that he quietly walk out the doorway and out of view. 

For a long moment Geralt sat at the table for a long moment, thinking over the supernatural merchant’s words. He wasn’t sure how much he should believe about the man, yet it didn’t make sense for him to lie as well. After all what was there to gain? Giving a sigh, he’d stare at his empty mug for a moment before hearing the neighing of a horse outside which was…oddly familiar. “No…can’t be.” He muttered as he got up and walked outside. Glancing down the road to see a brown furred mare walking towards him casually, as if finally arriving after being called. 

“Roach?!” Geralt was baffled. True his mounts had an odd habit of appearing in the most unlikely of places, although he had multiple theories relating to the horses being exposed to portals, potions and magic. Yet it was obvious this was O’Dimm’s doing. Already he wondered if the merchant was toying with him, bringing his trusty companion along instead of his other allies. Perhaps it was a limitation…or just to nudge him along the path of ‘champion of Westeros’.

He walk up to the horse who huffed in what he guessed was annoyance, making him chuckle. “Good to see you too.” Rubbing the mare along the snout and neck before moving to the saddle bags, curious to see if his supplies remained. Quickly checking through, everything seemed in place. The massive stock piles of herbs and handful of exotic materials remained yet oddly some things were missing. “No monster parts…trophies gone too…” He muttered, guessing Gaunter had taken them to avoid drawing attention. 

Checking the money bag though, he found the Orens were gone and replaced with Crowns instead, although at least third of the amount he original. “Bastard took my money…” He cursed. Then again maybe the merchant had taken in to account the difference in converting the currency. Checking further he found his extra bombs, potions and oils were fine too which was a blessing indeed. “Well this has turned things around.”

Taking Roach’s reins, he guide the horse to the caravan camp and find a post close by where he slept. He would make sure to safely pack his other belongings into the large saddle bags before going to bed. Nasr would appear just as he lay back onto the bedroll, the grey raven landing on the post near Roach. “Hello hello!” The bird murmured, giving a curious look to the horse who glanced back.

“Don’t be noisy. You’ll wake up someone…” Geralt grumbled as he relax back, trying to clear his mind despite thinking over everything Gaunter had shared. Part of him knew though that the merchant was right about how he was the best chance this world had for survival. It was daunting and felt out of place…making him that conflicted on the matter. Yet with effort he would push the thoughts aside before drifting into a worried sleep, trying to avoid the grim thought of Ciri lost in the vast void.

…

**Notice: Kept you waiting, haven’t I? Anyway real life has been crazy for me lately and I haven’t had much time to update my chapters and get them converted for Archive. Now that I have some free time, expect more updates to come. As usual, share your thoughts about the story through reviews or messaging me!**


	14. Season 1 Episode 13-  Shadows of King's Landing - Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arriving at King's Landing, Geralt quickly realizes the schemes and politics in the capital spread far and wide throughout the city. Being invited to Eddard's first Small Council meeting, he will begin the dangerous trek of intrigue and alliance that works in the background the Kingdoms.

 

 

 

 

**Season 1 Episodes 13: Shadows of King’s Landing - Part 1  
**

**Forward: You may notice that King’s Landing and the Iron Throne are described differently then what you see in the show. I found the book descriptions and certain art more interesting, so I decided to reference those instead.**

It was three days since Geralt had encountered Gaunter at the Crossroads Inn, having left along with the royal caravan heading southward to King’s Landing. During this time, he kept mostly to himself, only chatting up with Tyrion or Bronn during the ride. At the least the road here was well kept and mostly downhill at times, making travel easier. Overall his time alone let him think on Gaunter’s advice. Even though he distrusted the demon, he knew O’Dimm had little to gain by lying or trying to hinder him in saving Ciri. Amusing the merchant seemed to care about the Witcher, maybe just for his amusement or a show of good faith.

“Still wish I hadn’t met him…” He muttered as he’d guide Roach further along, moving past the heavy carriage that carried the royal family. The oversized and heavy vehicle was the main reason why traveling was slow, considering it was more of a small house on wheels. From what Ned told him, the axel and wheels broke often, making Robert so mad he threatened to burn the thing down.

Chuckling at the thought, he heard someone riding up behind him, making him glance back to see that it was Eddard. The man looked tired still though the dark rings had faded more since last time they had spoken. “We should be seeing the capital soon enough.” Ned muttered as he rode alongside Geralt.

“When was the last time you visited?”

“During the end of the Rebellion and a bit afterwards. City was in complete chaos after being sacked…yet I’m sure it’s fully recovered in the twenty years I’ve been away.”

“From what Tryion told me it seems to be bigger than most cities from back home. Even rival City of Golden Towers within the Nilfgaard Empire.”

“Interesting name for a city. You’ll have to tell me more later on.”

Geralt nodded as they rode on, being silent as the distant sounds of the sea could be heard. Soon they’d reach a turn in the road which had a grand view, one that had even Geralt gawk a bit. Set by a large bay was King’s Landing, a massive city of tanned buildings and countless streets that spread out for miles across the area. There were three large structures that got his interest, each set on top of a large hill set in a triangle like position. The southern hill had massive chapel which he guessed was the Great Sept of Baelor. Off at the far eastern hill was a grand palace, the Red Keep. The northern hill had a broken domed ruin which he heard was the Dragonpit, a coliseum that held the dragons during the Targaryen dynasties.

“It is quite the sight indeed.” Ned remarked, getting Geralt’s attention.

Geralt nodded, though his face scrunched up a bit as his sharp nose caught quite a stench drifting up from the city. “Ugh…and has quite the smell. I hope you and your family don’t sensitive noses, otherwise your daughters are going to be begging to go home.”

By now Ned too caught the smell of the city, making him chuckle a bit as he remembered it from so many years ago. “Sansa will no doubt complain…but I’m sure they will endure.” His attention focused back on the road that winded down a slope and went along the city borders.

The group rode down around the massive city walls before approaching the western gate. It seemed the group’s arrival was expected considering the lineup of city guards and the crowding commoners at the open city gates. The gateway was quite impressive with the stone faces that surrounding the massive structure, depicting the seven aspects of Faith. As the caravan began to file through the gate, there was cheering from the crowds, seeming eager for their King’s return. Robert though wasn’t seen though, no doubt resting inside the giant royal carriage.

“Quite the hero’s welcome.” Geralt muttered to Eddard as they rode along, the royal guards helping the city watch kept the people in line.

“Robert is quite the popular ruler.”

“At least when Jon Arryn was the Hand. He managed the Kingdom’s duties quite well from what I know, so it’s going to be hard to match up.”

Eddard sighed and nodded. “Aye…it is going to be.”

Plenty of eyes were quickly focus on the two, no doubt people curious about Lord Eddard yet seeming quite fascinated about Geralt. He’d catch hushed voices remarking about him as they mentioned his pale features, two swords on his back and scarred appearance. No doubt rumors and gossip would spread, that is unless such talk has already creeped down from the North already. The convoy soon passed through the city gate and began its trek along the main street that cut directly through the city and towards the looming Red Keep. From what Geralt could tell they were riding through a crafters district, considering the mix of workshops and stores set around the streets. They’d pass through a few city squares yet the one set before the Great Sept was the largest, having the biggest crowd waiting for them. Thankfully the route westward was clear as the group soon escaped the cheering crowds as they neared the Red Keep.

Geralt had visited plenty of palaces and castles back home, yet the Red Keep was quite the impressive structure. While not as flashy as the castle of Beauclair in Toussaint, it was more lavish then most of the Northern Realm keeps he had visited. One thing he rated it highly on was its very defendable position, considering the hill it was built on made approaching it by land quite limited along with the high red walls, battlements and towers added layers of defense. After passing through the layers of gates, they would arrive at the main court yard where the keep servants and courtiers were awaiting to help the caravan unpack.

Ned slowed his horse as a page handled the mount, giving him a chance to dismount. Geralt did the same, making sure to grab the wrapped axe off his pack before Roach was guided off to the stables. Soon after, a courtier would hurry up to the two, a well-kept young man who bowed and greeted them. “Welcome Lord Stark. Grand Maester Pycelle has called a meeting of the Small Council. The honor of your presence is requested.”

To the Witcher, it seemed odd for such a meeting to happen just at their arrival, yet no doubt the council members wished to follow their duties after months without the Hand or King. Ned didn’t seemed trouble with the request as he’d nod and glance back to the wagon that was carrying Sansa and Arya along with their caretaker. “Get the girls settled in. I’ll be back in time for supper.” He’d then look to one of his Northrern guards, one who Geralt recognized as Jory, Winterfell’s guard captain. He hadn’t had much time to chat with the man before yet heard he was skilled and loyal to the family. “Jory, you go with them.”

The captain nodded. “Yes my lord.”

Ned’s attention focused back on the courtier, seeming ready to be led inside the keep. “If you’d…like to change into something appropriate…” The young man asked, glancing over the lord’s leather traveling clothes which were a bit dirtied from the ride here. Eddard just gave a small glare, making the man give a small gulp and nod. “Very well my lord. This way.” The courtier turned to lead the way into the Keep, Ned following along while tugging off his leather gloves. Geralt followed behind them, entering into the main hall, yet they stopped before the great doors of the throne room. “Umm…may I ask your companion to wait outside?” The courtier politely asked.

“Geralt here is an advisor to me and has an important matter to share personally with the council. Don’t let the scars or swords worry you, he’s trustworthy.” Eddard assured the courtier.

The young man sighed and nodded to the guards at the door, who’d push them open for the group. The Witcher guessed the council chambers was set close to the throne room, much like other palaces he had been too. He was curious to at least see the famous Iron Throne, since he heard so many tales about it. The throne room itself was massive in size, though considering the throne itself, it made sense for the hall to be so large.

“Damn…that is one big throne.” He muttered as he gazed at what seemed to be a jutting pile of swords. The throne was a mountain of blades that were fused together and forged into the rough shape of a throne. He heard how the throne was made of a thousand blades surrendered to Aegon the First, who’d then command his dragon Balerion the Black Dread to heat them while a small army of smiths hammed the throne into shape. It was taller than any throne he had seen, towering well over him and Eddard as they neared it. Even the steps up to the seat itself were made of fused swords while the backing of the throne itself fanned out in a fearsome display. One tale he remember said that Aegon had the throne designed in such a manner so that no king would ever sit comfortably, a reminder of their difficult position as the ruler of the Seven Kingdoms.

“Impressive isn’t it?” Ned muttered. “Been twenty years since I last saw it.”

“Imposing, yet far from comfortable looking.” Geralt remarked back.

“I know. I sat on it once we took the Keep. Makes you realize how difficult reigning from it can be.”

The Witcher was curious to know more about Ned’s tale, yet focused on the matter at hand. The two of them moved around to a back area of the Throne, a private lavish room where the Small Council met. Sitting around the meeting table were a group of people, who Geralt would recognize from description at least. During the ride he had questioned Tyrion deeply about the current members of the Small Council, wanting to be prepared when it came to dealing with them.

The first member to greet them was a chubby bald man dressed in fine deep purple robes. He’d give a small smile to Ned, hands out to shake with the Lord before being greeted. “Lord Varys.” Eddard said politely.

“Good to see you after so long Lord Stark.’ The man said, his voice quite soft spoken and formal. “We heard about the trouble on the King’s Road relating to the prince. We all prey for Prince Joffrey’s full recovery from his injuries.”

“Of course.” Eddard muttered bluntly, seeming to want to avoid the matter.

Varys, Master of Whispers, the position of spymaster. Geralt had dealt with such types during his time in Vazima, mainly with the foul mouthed Thaler who had served for Tameria. Many people thought such individuals to be rogues in black clothes and wearing cowls, yet that was just a myth and a ploy by the real masters of espionage. He could tell that Varys had a shifty cunning about him as the man smiled and nodded to Eddard, his sharp eyes soon shifting towards the Witcher. There was a curious surprise in them, yet it was quick to become calculating as he noted Geralt’s unique features.

“Geralt of Rivia I presume?” Varys asked as he’d slip his hands into the hanging sleeves of his robes. Eddard meanwhile would move on to greet and chat with the council members.

“Greets Lord Varys. I’m surprised you know who I am. Been only in the south for only a few weeks, so I didn’t expect to be recognized by anyone.”

“It’s my duty to know about individuals such as yourself Witcher.” The man remarked, again showing his knowledge of Geralt’s profession. “When unknown strangers from foreign lands come to our shores, one must be informed after all. I’ve heard of your accomplishment bested two wildlings raiding parties after all.” A hint of surprise showed on the Witcher’s face yet Varys kept a calm smile to him. “Don’t worry yourself Geralt. We’ll have much to discuss very soon.”

“Right…of course.” Geralt muttered. Already he could tell the man was very good at his job, getting such information from the other side of the continent so quickly. He’d have to be careful with what he said and did around the city else it be known to Varys.

His attention moved onto the other Council members. Eddard just finished hugged and greeting the youngest member of the council, Renly Baratheon, Robert’s youngest brother and the Master of Laws. Geralt could see the resemblance he had to his other brother, sharing the same fine black hair as his older sibling. With a charismatic smile and dashing looks, he understood why the young noble had become so popular among the commoners and the other nobles.

“You look tired from the road Eddard. I told the others we should have postponed the meeting for tomorrow.” Renly remarked with a small chuckle.

“But we have a kingdom to look after.” A smooth voice said, belonging to a slim man dressed in fine black and gray clothing with a silver pin shaped as a mocking jay. He stood tall and formal, trying to stand out among the other council members. “I hoped to meet you for some time Lord Stark. No doubt Lady Catelyn has mentioned me.”

Eddard looked to the man, giving a small nod as he’d removed his cloak. “She has Lord Baelish. I understand you knew my brother Brandon as well.”

Petyr chuckled and gave a small shrug. “All too well. I still carry a token of his esteem from navel to collarbone.”

“Perhaps you chose the wrong man to duel with.”

“Ah but it wasn’t the man that I chose my lord, it was Catelyn Tully. A woman worth fighting for which I’m sure you’d agree.”

Ned had an odd look in his eyes as the two lords stared down each other, a feeling of tension already forming between them. From what Geralt knew Petyr Baelish was lord of a minor house set in quite unremarkable region called the Fingers. Despite his low standing, he had risen over the years through his financial skills and courtly cunning, leading to him now being Master of Coin. Just from the hints of his and Eddard’s conversation, he had quite the history with the Starks already.

Before the two could say anything more, the old man sitting nearby dressed in Maester robes and chains would speak up. “I humbly beg your pardon Lord Stark.”

“Grand Maester Pycelle.”  
The old man gave a small smile back. “How many years has it been? You were a young man last we met.”

“Aye and you served another king.”

Pycelle glanced away slightly, seeming nervous at the mention. Geralt knew this man had served the role of Grand Maester for forty years now, a quite long time for such a position. He knew the role was a difficult one considering the Grand Maester was expected to be knowledgeable in as many topics as possible, which often led to older individuals taking the seat. Of course often they died in just a few years, which had led to more lax choosing, which in this case Pycelle having been chosen so many decades ago.

A sudden realization would come to the man as he’d suddenly shift to reach into his robes. “Oh how forgetful of me.” He’d soon take out a large metal pin shaped as a fist clenching a spike. “This belongs to you now.” Eddard took the pin and examined it. “Anyway shouldn’t we begin?”

“Aye we will, once King Robert arrives.” Ned muttered as he’d attach the pin to his leather vest.

The gathered council gave odd looks to each other, Renly smirking a bit even.

“His grace has many cares. He entrusts many small matters to us.” Varys explained.

“No doubt, yet in this case he will be attending.” Eddard again repeated before sitting down.

At that point whatever amused looks the council members had shifted to more confused ones. “I don’t seem to understand Lord Stark? The King hasn’t come to a meeting before and I doubt he will for this.” Baelish remarked. “There has yet to be a matter important enough for him to grace us with his presence.”

“Yet there is a matter for him to be here. Two in fact. While we wait though I feel I should introduce a friend of mine.” Ned gestured to Geralt who had been hanging back, making everyone’s gaze shift to him. “I’d like to introduce Geralt of Rivia. He’s a traveler from across the Narrow Sea and a respected new adviser of mine. He has been helping me deal with troubling matters in the far ends of the North.”

At that point, Geralt stepped up to the table and look to all the gathered council members. “Greets to all of you.”

“As to you good sir. I must say I’ve never heard of a Rivia anywhere in Essos.” Pycelle murmured.

“Where I come from it’s a bit…beyond Essos.” Geralt answered back. “Yet that isn’t the important or related to why I’m here. There is a threat in the North, one that can put the whole northern region of continent at risk.”

“Are you meaning the Wildlings?” Renly asked curiously. “Heard plenty of tales about them, yet I question how a group of savages are a risk to us when we have the Wall and Night’s Watch to guard us.”

“Indeed.” A new deep voice remarked, making everyone turn to look to the entrance of the room. Shocked looks showed on the other council members’ faces, while Eddard had a small amused smile. There was Robert, dressed in his kingly finery and royal crown, looking the most well-groomed so far. The stout man looked at the group with a stern glare before moving forward to the empty head seat. “Well…did I come here to be gawked at or to seek your advice?”

“I…Of course your grace.” Pycelle quickly remarked. “It is just unexpected to see you visit us.”

Renly smirked, lodging back in his seat more. “Indeed. Pleased to see you stepping up brother.” His tone was the most informal, yet Robert didn’t seem to mind his brother’s words.

“I came because Eddard insisted for over a week on the road. Hard to ignore such a request.” Robert muttered as he’d sit back into his seat. “And considering you’ve brought Geralt along…well…I can imagine this is an important issue.”

“Indeed it is your majesty.” The Witcher answered back as he walked closer to the meeting table. “Lord Stark sent me to look into the strange events happening in the far north along with evaluate the Night’s Watch and the Wall. Considering I was attacked by a second raiding party of Wildlings wasn’t a good start.”

“Eddard was quick to tell me that news.” Robert remarked. “I’ll admit, a second encounter with a large group in just a few months is unexpected.”

“Indeed. I know you’re a man who doesn’t care for politics and finances. That isn’t your specialty. You’re a commander and warrior, someone who fully understands the ways of war.” Geralt paused for a moment before he’d heft up the wrapped up axe, tugging the wrappings off before dropping it heavily on the table. Pycelle and Baelish flinched from the weapon slamming down, yet the Grand Maester gave a curious look at the weapon.

“I recognize this design. Yes…very few Maesters have ever gotten to see a Thenn weapon in person. Such studies are limited to a few…uhh…outdated tomes.” The old man muttered.

“Then you understand that they are a group of Wildlings that shouldn’t be underestimated.” His gaze focused on Robert once more. “Overall that makes twenty Wildlings that have intruded on your lands. If they had joined together, they could have causes some serious damage to more isolated villages and travelers on the road.”

“I know how they work Witcher. The tactics of pillaging are a rough yet effective tactic.”

“Which is the reason why they’re a risk. I’m met plenty of people who believe the Wall will just keep the Wildlings back. Well obviously, they have found ways to get by and in time it could lead into a full on invasion.”

Baelish leaned forward in his seat, giving a questioning look to the Witcher. “Surely you must be exaggerating. The Wildlings can’t be that united and we have the Night’s Watch-”

“The Watch is undermanned Lord Baelish.” Ned interrupted before putting down the leather-bound folder the Lord Commander had given Geralt. “Check these reports, all done under Lord Commander Mormont’s trusted stewards.”

The Small Council took turns reading the reports, Varys seeming the more interested as he took his time checking over every detail. Robert was surprisingly focused on the reports as well, although Geralt expected as much from a man so focused on warfare.

“Geralt does seem correct sire.” Varys remarked. “Only about a thousand men keep watch between the three remaining keeps. Considering most are untrained petty criminals, makes their standing value even less considering.”

Robert remained silent as he’d glance to the papers and then at Geralt. “So you believe the Night’s Watch is that weak and the Wall is that venerable?”

“Not saying the Wildlings are just going to march up to the Wall like any other army and siege it. No, I doubt even Seven Kingdoms combined can break through that thing. Yet every defense has a weakness…and that is the keeps like Castle Black.”

At that point realization showed in Robert’s gaze. “A sneak attack from behind. Take the keep and let the horde in.”

“Exactly. I fear the Wildlings will try such a move. From what the Lord Commander told me they have a new King Beyond the Wall and there something is forcing them southward. They’re united and desperate, a bad combination for anyone facing against them.”

Baelish again spoke up. “I can see the Lord Commander is requesting for quite the tidy amount of new weapons and supplies. While in normal times it be manageable, the kingdom is currently in debt.”

“Right…by how much.”

The lord looked at the group, giving a sigh. “The crown is six million in debt. Three million to the Lord Tywin Lannister and the rest to the Iron Bank.”

The amount had both Ned and Geralt giving wide eyed looks of shock. The Witcher had seen plenty of kingdoms build up debt, yet never heard of that much. Eddard however seemed to be angry as he’d look at Robert, who was looking away, although in frustration or shame, Geralt didn’t know.

“So then…can the treasury accept these requests along with the King’s tournament?’ Pycelle questioned.

“Not without barrowing from the Lannisters or the Iron Bank.” Baelish answered back.

No doubt Eddard wanted to demand and question Robert right there, yet the Northern Lord held his tongue for now. The Witcher felt the two would have a heated argument over this news along with other matters once the meeting was over.

“Fine then…what about man power? If we can’t fund the Night’s Watch then just reinforce it with experienced soldiers and experts.” Geralt asked.

Renly nodded in agreement. “True. Knowing the types of men we send up to the Wall, most of which lack any real skills to support the Watch.”

“Yes but the question is would honest men really give up their freedoms to serve at the Wall?” Varys questioned.

“I’m not saying they should take the oath and serve, just be temporarily stationed there. As for where these men will come from…”

“The North will contribute if the King allows it.” Eddard spoke up, interrupting Geralt. “The bannermen will accept the call to aid the Night’s Watch since they know what will happen if the Wildlings do get pass the Wall. I only hope the rest of the Kingdoms will put some effort to the cause as well.”

Robert looked at Ned with a calm yet stern glaze. “I respect that choice Lord Stark. You may be my Hand, yet you still rule the North and in turn protecting it. Make sure to send your ravens as soon as possible. Grand Maester Pycelle will also have Ravens sent to the largest Keeps to share this news and request for aid.”

“Ah of course sire. I will be sure to have the letters written by tonight and the ravens sent out tomorrow.” The old man murmured.

Robert nodded before speaking once more. “However there is another pressing matter…another threat to the Seven Kingdoms that we must discuss.”

“Which we have discussed.” Ned muttered.

“Aye we did…yet I’m here with my council, so I may as well speak of it now. Besides Varys was the one to inform me of this news during the ride south with a raven he sent.”

Everyone’s attention looked to the chubby man who get a passive expression. “As you all know only two possible survivors of the Targaryen line remain. For years we have thought they had disappeared into hiding or silently killed off. Instead they have revealed themselves.”

“Viserys and Daenerys.” Geralt muttered, remembering the news Eddard had shared with him days ago. “If I’m correct the brother is only just into his twenties while his sister has just reached womanhood. Yet I take your more worried of who she has married.”

The spymaster gave a small smile. “You’re well informed Sir Geralt.” The title had the Witcher’s gaze narrow in annoyance yet the chubby man continued. “Indeed. With Daenerys married to Khal Drogo, she now has an army vast enough invade the Seven Kingdoms and try reclaiming the throne.”

The other council members muttered to each other, no doubt sharing their thoughts privately. Eddard seemed tense, seeming to know something everyone else didn’t.

“So let me get this straight. You’re worried of a sixteen year old invading with an army of shirtless horse raiders?” Geralt was focused on Robert, the large man having an intense look in his eyes. “No it’s not fear…its revenge isn’t it? Even with the thousands dead after the Rebellion you still want to finish what you started.”

The whole table was dead silent from what the Witcher just said. Eddard and Renly had a worried look in his eyes, Varys that of surprise, Pycelle seemed to be having a silent panic attack and Baelish showed a hint of amusement.  
Robert seemed to fume, fists clenched tightly before relaxing. He’d give a grim grin at the Witcher, a single chuckle escaping him. “A blunt deduction Witcher. You’re right…even after all these years I still feel the same hate for the Targaryen’s. After all they had done…” The man’s gaze looked to Eddard for moment before back at Geralt. “…They all deserve to die for the suffering they brought. We got lax towards the end, let those two slip by and now decades later they are planning to return in vengeance.”

At that point Renly spoke up. “And I agree of the threat they pose. However we have to be realistic. We don’t know if this Khal Drogo will even agree to cross the Narrow Sea. In fact they would need a massive fleet just to transport all those Dothraki, their horses and countless cargo holds of supplies.” Sighing, the young noble thought for a moment. “I wish Stannis wasn’t away right now. He’d understand the complications such a fleet would be and how to counter it.”

“Yet there is a simple solution to this all. Target and eliminate the Targaryens.” Varys calmly stated.

“You mean assassinate.” Geralt muttered.

“It is the simplest solution. Two deaths to save countless thousands on both sides.”

“And the solution I wish to follow.” Robert sternly remarked. “Until both are dead the Seven Kingdoms will always have a looming threat. I may happen during my reign or that of Joffrey’s…either way it will come unless dealt with.”

“Then this is a matter I’d rather not hear any more.” Geralt muttered as he’d turn for the door. “At the least I’m glad you listened and agreed about the trouble in the North.”

“Hold it Witcher.” Geralt stopped at the doorway out, glancing back at Robert who had spoken to him. “There is one matter that you could help with. I know what you’re capable of and that is reason enough to request this of you.”

“Robert don’t-” Eddard sharply remarked yet the King continued to speak.

“I am willing to pay for your services Witcher. You claim you kill monsters…well…the Targaryens are the worst of them all. I’ll give you all the resources you need to find your daughter of yours…hells even lordship if you kill those last two Targaryens.”

The Witcher was dead silent as he’d stare back at Robert, his gaze cold and angered hearing the man’s request. “No.”

“That quick to refuse?”

“You could offer me the Iron Throne itself and I’d still say no.” The room was silent, a great tension filling the air. “I wish you good fortune on your choices your majesty. The road has been tiring for me…so excuse me.” With that he’d leave the council chamber, Robert giving a low growl at Geralt’s manners toward him, making the Witcher wonder if he was going to demand him arrested for speaking out like that. Eddard gave a sigh, seeming to have expected Geralt to speak out harshly to the King, yet also having knowing Robert would make such a request as well.

 

 

 

…

Heading back into the throne room, Geralt slowed his pace when he noticed Jaime sitting at the steps of the Iron Throne. The dashing blond hair man was dressed in the golden armor and of the King’s Guard, no doubt following his usual duties now that he was back at the Red Keep. He’d look to Geralt, giving a small smile which the Witcher didn’t return.

“Judging from your look the Small Council has had quite the successful meeting.” Jaime remarked sarcastically.

“Not in the mood for jokes.” The Witcher sternly stated.

“Heh, seems King Robert has angered you once again. Let me guess, it was the idea to hire you as an assassin for the Targaryens.”

For a moment Geralt was silent, wondering how the knight knew, then remembered the man no doubt overheard plenty of things the King said while guarded him. “Maybe. What does it matter to you?”

“Are you that forgetful about history? You seem to have forgotten my most…famous accomplishment”

Again Geralt thought, quickly realizing what Jaime meant. “Right…Kingslayer.” Slowly his gaze looked around the throne room as he wondered what exactly played out here so many years ago. “So I have to wonder, what was the Mad King really like? Was he that insane or was that just slander made up during the Rebellion?”

Jaime shifted to stand, one hand casually resting on the pommel of his sword as he’d look at the Witcher. “As you have said…what does it matter?”

“I’m curious to know the truth. I’ve dealt with my share of kings both great, foolish and mad, so maybe you’d like to hear the opinion of an outsider for once.”

For a moment Jaime was quiet, gauntleted fingers tapping on the pommel of his sword. “Fair enough. I’ll tell you a tale and you tell me one of your own.” Pacing around to the towering Iron Throne, he’d continue to speak. “Aerys Targayren the Second was indeed as mad as the tales say. Wasn’t like that at first when he took the Throne. Replaced the older members of the court with fresh young nobles and lords, all part of building a strong new era of prosperity and peace.” Smirking, he’d glance back at Geralt. “My father served as his Hand you know and in turn that led to my family’s rise to power after its rather lowly position under grandfather.”

“Right…care to skip that part?”

Sighing, the blond knight shrugged. “Overall Aerys started to show the classic signs of Targaryen madness. Paranoia, insane rambles, violent bursts and a general lack of care for his appearance.”

“No doubt a side effect from generations of inbreeding.”

“Indeed. Point is he became quite obsessed with fire. This whole hall had pyres set up to burn his ‘enemies’. Didn’t matter who, if someone so much as looked at him funny he’d demand them burned.”

Oddly that statement reminded Geralt of someone, although he kept silent still.

“Overall I was young and aspiring knight of the King’s Guard despite all the chaos. I was reminded that my duty wasn’t to judge the king yet guard him. In the end that became harder to follow. In the end you know the rest, father lies to enter and sack the city while I end the sad King’s life before he could give any insane orders.”

“And that’s that?”

“Well…did decide to take a sit on the Throne.” Jaime nodded to the spikey seat. “I can say…not at all comfortable. Lord Stark was far from pleased finding me resting on it, even though he took seat on it afterwards.”

“He has mentioned that now that I think back. Kept claiming that breaking your oath was inexcusable.”

“Heh and you agree with him?” Jaime chuckled.

Yet the Witcher shook his head. “Considering what I know, I’m surprised no one else did in poor Aerys. Seems enough were that scared or that blindly loyal to him. Maybe in the end your intervention wasn’t needed. Personally I’d have done the same yet far sooner.” For a moment Jaime’s smug expression faltered, almost a hint of surprise showing on his face. Geralt had a feeling there was more that the knight knew, yet he didn’t question the matter. “Anyway guess it’s my turn. I can say the Northern Realms back home suffered under a pretty vicious king. His reign became rough towards the end, having to fend off an invasion. Yet if anything the things he did made the conquest all the more appealing considering.”

He’d go on for a good while detailing King Radovid’s cruel reign, how he had grown to hate anyone with a sign of intelligence or relation to the occult, though he kept the details of mages vague and brief. Detailing the purges and tortures that followed all who the king found as a ‘threat’ or nuisance to his rule, Jaime couldn’t help but pale a bit hearing how the man had his royal advisor’s eyes scooped out with a heated metal spoon.

“So…how did his ‘glorious’ reign end? At the blade of his closest protector like me?” The knight questioned.

“More of a grand conspiracy between the last surviving spy masters and elite soldiers who cut a deal with the Empire. Keep their country’s independence for Radovid’s head. With me involved of course, organizing and recruiting the whole group.”

Jaime smirked at the last bit. “So did you cut him down then? You seem the most capable.”

“No…if anything Radovid nearly got away. Course he ran into his old advisor who was quick to show him the suffering she felt before putting a knife into his skull.”

“Ah…” Jaime was silent, yet before he could speak there were voices coming from the Small Council chamber. It seemed their conversation had gone longer than expected.

“Anyway. Best leave for now. Rather not bother the King any further today.” As he turned to leave the throne room, Jaime spoke up.

“One last question Geralt.” The Witcher stopped, glancing back at the knight who had a serious look. “You never told me why you choose to help kill a king, put so much risk in such a difficult and dangerous task. What drove you to do so?”

For a moment Geralt was silent, curious at why the knight cared on such a personal detail. “Because I watched as too many innocent and friends were burned and tortured. Because in the end I wasn’t going to let that bastard kill the few remaining people I love and care for.” He’d pause for a moment letting his words sink in. “You’re still young Jaime. In the end evil is evil, no matter if it is the lesser or greater. Forget the crap anyone says of breaking oaths and vows. When the right obvious choice is there…you take it.”

By then there were footsteps coming from the council chambers, making Jaime glance away for a moment. When he looked back towards Geralt, the man was already leaving the large doors of the chamber. There was a puzzled look across Jaime’s face, finding a strange respect to the Witcher’s reasoning and point of view. “Heh…if he only knew.” He muttered before hearing the Council entering the hall, making him snap out of his thoughts and focus onto his duties.

 

…

It wasn’t hard for Geralt to find a servant who’d direct him to the guest quarters of the Red Keep. The palace was vast, often having open walkways that had breathtaking views of the Narrow Sea and the vast city below. Arriving at his room, it was by far the most lavish one he had stayed in since coming to Westeros, having a large four poster bed, finely carved furniture along with a counter of fine crystal bottles with liquor. His packs were set aside orderly for him which he’d check first, making sure now of her supplies were touched.

“I hope the accommodations are in order sir.” The servant said, standing dutifully at the doorway.

“They are.” Geralt muttered politely.

“Will you wish to have dinner brought up to you later? Also any special requests?”

He’d think for a moment before nodding. “I’ll have dinner here. Also inviting Lord Tyrion if he has the time to visit. Besides that I’d also like the best map you have for the city since I plan to do some sightseeing.”

“Of course sir.” The servant bowed before hurrying out, closing the door behind him.

Now alone, Geralt sighed as he’d move towards the balcony that his room had, giving him a lovely view of city and sea. “Wish Yenn was here. She’d know who to handle this political mess.” He muttered as he’d lean against the archway. He’d think over his conversation, trying to figure out what was with Jaime. From what he could guess, the knight’s boasting and smugness was a cover to a degree. Whatever the reason, it didn’t matter in the end so long as Jaime didn’t pressure a rivalry between them. He had enough problems as it were. For now he’d take the time to sort out his packed supplies, guessing he may as well organize them since he felt he’d be staying here at the Keep for a long while.

 

 

 

…

By sunset, dinner had arrived along with Tyrion who was quick to chatter on about the recent news going on. The dwarf had been quick to visit his favorite brothel when they arrived, mainly to relax and catch up on rumors going around the city. Overall there was nothing too interesting or new gossip that Geralt had heard already such as Daenerys reappearance and marriage. At the least the friendly chatter and fine drink helped the Witcher relax after the stressful meeting from earlier.

“So then, we need to focus on the tournament Geralt. We have only a month left to prepare after all. Already knights and famous warriors are crowding to King’s Landing, yet you need to be the one that stands out the most. In fact there is already chatter among the common folk.” Tyrion remarked after refilling his glass with wine.

“Really now? Haven’t exactly done much since arriving here.” Geralt remarked curiously.

“More of what you did days ago. Talk of you saving a boy from the fearsome Hound who was ordered to hunt him down for unknown reason. How you bravely swooped in without hesitation, dismounting the man while he charged right at you.” The dwarf’s tone was thematic, trying to over exaggerate the tale.

“Well you knew that happened considering. Yet how did that news spread so fast?”

“They say there are two ways to get a message across Westeros. Either you do it by raven or it be on the tongues of simple folk who travel its roads. You forget, the ride from the inn and King’s Landing isn’t that long, the caravan just slowed us down.”

“Fair point…well…guess it can’t hurt having some budding reputation among the masses. At the least they don’t seem to be planning for torches and pitchforks like back home.”

“I’ll never understand the backwards nature your land has.” The dwarf sighed as he’d sip from his glass.

Geralt shrugged, gulping down his glass before setting it aside. “So any other details about the tournament?”

“Mainly just the events. There is the joust, Melee and archery.”

“Sounds normal…although I don’t think I’ll be able to do the joust or archery. I can ride and fight mounted, yet don’t know a thing about using a lance. Archery would matter on the rules, yet I doubt they’d allow a crossbow. Which leaves the Melee…so how will that one go?”

“A forty-man free for all from what I understand. Overall the rules allow for the combatants to fight with any weapons and armor allowed for the event along with being mounted. The event will be split between teams of twenty for the first round then two teams of ten for the second. The last ten remaining then begin a free for all between the.”

“Quite big brawl. Hadn’t fought against that many for a while…” Geralt muttered, a small smirk crossing his face. “That should be interesting.”

“Twenty thousand gold dragons for the victor. A sizable prize overall…yet the real rewards will be on the bets. I can say I’m betting heavily that you will win the melee.”

“You’re that confident in my skills?”

Tyrion chuckled. “I believe myself a good judge of character. Besides, I think you want the prize money to support whatever plans you have or haul away back home once you find your missing daughter and sort out whatever quest she’s on.”

Geralt was silent for the moment as the dwarf spoke, still wondering what he would do about Ciri and the true lurking threat beyond the Wall. Money could get him far, yet he doubted all the gold in the world could stop the White Frost or bend space and time. Part of him felt it be better to return North and to Castle Black, try to work with the Night’s Watch however much he could and hope whatever aid the Kingdoms may send would be enough. However, he’d snap out of his thoughts when there was a knock at the door, making Geralt glance up.

“I’ll get it.” Tyrion quickly answered, hoping off his seat and hurrying to the door before Geralt to stop him. Standing behind the door was Eddard, who seemed to have clean himself up and changed into a fine set of dark grey clothes with the Hand of the King pin set on his vest. “Ah! Lord Stark, good to see you.”

“Greets Lord Tyrion.” Ned answered back politely before looking over at Geralt still sitting at the nearby table. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”

“Nonsense! Please come in!” Tyrion invited, moving aside and returning to the table, getting an extra glass filled for the Stark.

Geralt sighed as Tyrion seemed to be deciding who got to visit him, although if anything he was pleased to see Eddard. The Northern Lord moved to an empty seat with a sigh, taking a sip from his glass as he tried to relax. “Really bothered Robert this time.” He muttered.

“He shouldn’t have made that offer then.” Geralt grumbled as he’d take a deep drink to empty his glass.

“I know that. Early on the journey south he told me the news about Daenerys and the marriage she had, I was strongly against trying to assassinate her. The idea to have you do it made it even worse in my eyes.”

“I’m curious why you’re against it. If anything the Targaryens have done the most harm to your family personally by killing your father, brother and sister.”

Ned didn’t answer at first, fingers lightly tapping the table in thought. “You are right…Aerys Targaryen burned my father alive and had my brother strangled trying to save him. I hate him for that, not his daughter who wasn’t even born yet.” He muttered in a low serious manner.

“And your sister?”

“That is different.”

“Considering what I read and the rumors I’ve heard…I can understand that.”

Ned glanced up at Geralt curiously. “The whole story of her kidnapping? Robert was the one who believed that she was kidnapped, yet many others felt otherwise.”

“Indeed.” Tyrion sighed, suddenly stepping into the conversation. The two men had almost forgotten about the dwarf. “Rhaegar, regal knight and perfect heir to the throne. He was the shining champion every maiden longed for. To think that he’d break such chivalry to do the things the King yammers on about…it was against all reason.”

“Tyrion, I think the drink is making you say things.” Geralt chuckled.

“Let me finish! I know the story of how Rhaegar during the last tourney he was in favored the fair Lyanna Stark. How the tales go…romance and scandal it was. In the end many felt the two were love struck and in secret hurried away one-”

“Lord Tyrion.” Ned’s voice was low and cold. “I would ask you stop…and that you retire for the night.” The look Eddard had seemed to snap the dwarf to his senses, having not seen the Stark look so intense before.

“My…apologies Lord Stark. Seems the wine did loosen my tongue. I meant no disrespect.” Tyrion muttered. “Rest do us all well I think. Months on the road after all.” Snatching the half empty wine bottle and his glass, he’d hurry for the door out. “Until next time gentlemen!” And he was gone, kicking the door close behind him as he left the room.

Eddard relaxed once the Lannister was gone, sighing as he’d sip from his glass again. “He is right though. I remember the look she and the prince had back then. Love at first sight.” He’d smirk a bit. “Robert was fuming. I never understood what drove him to feel such affection for my sister…”

“Love affected others in strange ways. I know the feeling well enough.” Geralt remarked.

Ned nodded in agreement. “Yet Robert didn’t understand my sister. He was too lost in her beauty to know who she really was. Under her fair looks she had an iron will and a fierce sense of independence about her.” He’d sigh. “I wonder if she would have set Robert straight, chain up his urges and hone him into a decent man. Maybe he’d simply slip back into habit…” Eddard finished his cup, sliding it aside.

“So what killed her then?”

Ned glanced up at Geralt, dead silent.

“Every story varies. Most of them don’t detail what happened…yet I know you were the one to find her in the end.”

“That is a private matter Geralt. I trust you and have shared much about my sister…more than most.”

“Then I won’t press further.” The Witcher finished his glass as well, sighing as he set it aside. “All I can say is I’m sorry for you…and your family. No doubt you’re heard that a hundred times over the years…yet I feel it’s worth saying.”

Eddard nodded, glancing out at the open balcony and to the clear night sky. “Thank you then Geralt.” For a long moment neither spoke, giving them both time to clear their thoughts on the touchy matter.

“Now then. What happens now? Your wife could be arriving any day now and she’ll be quick to draw attention.”

“I know. I’ve already notified the guards to watch the gates and docks.” Ned muttered. “Hopefully I can speak some reason to her, plea with her to return home and care for Brann now that he has awaken.”

“A good idea. Yet what about the investigation about Bran’s assassin?”

“As you said the dagger is the key to linking this all together. Once we have the weapon, we will need track down its history and ownership.”

“Right…which will be my job. Be kind of hard for you to focus on your duties as Hand and discretely investigate. Know any good weapon smiths or historians who can help us.” At this point, he’d pull up the map of King’s Landing while Ned thought for a moment.

“I have some ideas.” Pulling the map closer, he’d study it before pointing out some key streets and locations. “The Street of Steel is one of the oldest and most renowned section of the crafters district. Look for a man named Tobho Mott, he’s a master smith who is said to be one of the few men among the Kingdoms to know understand Valyrian steel.” His attention then shifted to the docks. “Blackwater gets plenty of traffic from traders and merchants. Someone may know of the weapon or perhaps about the assassin himself if he traveled by ship somehow.”

“Anywhere else?”

“There…is the Street of Silks. Brothels and luxury houses fill that part, yet many exotic deals are made around there. Lord Baelish has a…side business running one of the more lavish brothels.”

“Heh, so the Master of Coin spends his wealth on a colorful industry. You’re not saying we should ask for his help, are you?”

“We have few allies around and I know Littlefinger does care for Cat…even if his interest is bothersome.”

“Wait…did you just call him Littlefinger?” Geralt chuckled.

“It was a nickname he received over the years considering he is a minor lord of such an unremarkable region. Think of it as more of a…street name in public circles.”

“Right.” Looking over the map, his attention fell to the slums. “What about Flea Bottom?”

“The slums? That is an odd choice to good looking for leads.” Ned questioned. “Nothing but the poor and criminal live in those cramped streets.”

“You’d be surprised what such circles can know. I’ll admit I’ve dealt with criminal groups before and they often have connections that are well spread out. Besides that, the common folk can be a useful ally in the end.”

“If you think that is best. I’ll trust your experience on the matter.”

Geralt took the map back and rolled it up once more. “So what else was decided during the meeting after I left?”

“Well…Robert is set on having the tournament in honor of me. I tried to argue the matter, yet he wouldn’t let it be as he claimed the people needed some festivities to up their moods and to introduce me to the masses.”

“And what about Daenerys?”

“Currently I’m against taking any action against her right now. Unless there is a showing sign of an invasion, I won’t condone the assassination of a banished girl. Yet I feel Varys already has made plans.”

“Nothing we can do on that. Let’s just hope it doesn’t become any more complicated.”

Nodding, Ned shifted to stand up with a sigh. “Anyway, I’d taken enough of your time tonight Geralt. I recommend that you rest in for a while and decide on what to do over the coming weeks.” Moving for the door out, he’d stop to continue speaking. “Just watch yourself. Everything we do in the Keep will be noted…and try to avoid angering Robert any further.”

“I’ll try to avoid that. Rest well Lord Stark.”

The Northern Lord left the room, leaving Geralt to himself at last. Getting out of his seat, he’d move over to the large bed and flop down with a tired groan. “Guh…feels like Novigrad all over again.” He muttered. “Question is…who will end up dying in the end?” It was a grim thought, yet deep down his gut feeling told him this investigation wasn’t going to end well. He put the negative feelings behind as he’d pull up the silken sheets, slipping off to sleep


	15. Season 1 Episode 14: Shadows of King's Landing - Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt begins to explore King's Landing and begin his investigation on the many conspiracies threatening the Stark family and the Seven Kingdoms. Learning more about the city's many unique inhabitants, he quickly gains helpful and colorful allies while learning more about the nobles within the capital.

**Season 1 Episode 14: Shadows of King's Landing - Part 2**

**…**

The mix of knocking at his door and the bright sunlight peeking through the window curtains would awaken Geralt, who’d mutter a bit to himself as he’d shift to sit up in bed. “Damn…first time I’ve overslept.” Indeed it had been ages since he had such a comfortable bed, especially after the month of traveling he had done across the Kingdoms. Getting out of bed, he’d head for the door and peek outside to see that it was the male servant from before.

“Good morning sir Geralt.” The young man said formally. “I hope I didn’t disrupt your rest.”

Geralt shook his head. “Not at all, if anything I needed a wakeup call.”

“Do you wish for breakfast or require anything for the day?”

Thinking for a moment, he’d nod in response. “Breakfast sounds nice.”

“As you wish sir.” The servant bowed and hurried off, while Geralt closed the door shut. By now he realized he should secure his room better while he was away. While he wasn’t sure if someone would try to spy on him, he didn’t want a maid cleaning his room to discover his stash of potions and take a curious sip. Even the less potent mixtures could cripple someone for life if not kill them outright. He’d use the large storage chest set in one corner of the room, a sturdy container with plenty of space. For a good fifteen minutes he’d work on carefully storing his potions and bombs along with the more dangerous and valuable crafting materials he had. By the time he finished, there be a knock at the door and soon the servant entered with a covered platter.

“Here you are sir.” The young man set both platter and package on the table before returning to the door. “Anything else.”

“Nothing more.” Geralt answered back thankfully.

The servant nodded before leaving, letting the Witcher finish packing in peace. Lastly, he’d put away half of his money into the chest along with his silver blade, feeling it would be unneeded in the city and draw too much attention considering its value. From what he knew, the poor of the city were quite desperate in some places and openly showing wealth could draw trouble, not that he couldn’t handle it.

With his valuables locked up, he’d change into a fresh set of clothes for the day, similar to the garb he had changed into since arriving to the warmer southern regions. He’d wear this Stark bracer along with his sturdy Witcher boots along with steel sword in case of any danger out in the city. Fully dressed, his attention focused on the hearty meal on the table, which he took his time eating while studying the city map, planning out his route for the day.

“The smith Eddard mentioned should be a good start. Maybe see if he can do some minor repairs even.” He muttered to himself as he finished eating before leaving his room and beginning his trek through the Red Keep. Without a servant, it was a bit tricky to figure his way around, yet he’d find his way to the main court yard and head out the main gates without any issue from the guards.

Taking the road down into the main city, the usual bustle soon surrounded him as he’d make his way to the main square before the Grand Sept. It was strange seeing so many people about, the streets far more crowded then even the largest cities back home. Then again such places were struggling from war and conflict last he visited. Moving along, he did get some lingering stares, no doubt from his scars and pale features yet no one lashed out with insults or threats like he was used to. It was odd really but welcoming in this case.

He’d heard back towards the crafters district, retracing the route the royal caravan had taken before arriving to a side street with an impressive sign naming it ‘Street of Steel’. Heading down, the air soon had the think smell of copper, coal smoke and oil as he passed through a mix of workshops and blacksmith shops. The simpler and cheaper businesses started at the lower half of the street, while the more fancy and expensive were farther back towards the higher slope of the hill the street was built on. He took his time strolling along casually examining the different weapons and armor on display.

“Solid plate! Stop any arrow without a dent!”

“Short swords! Long swords! Heck we even have curved swords from Essos!”

Geralt attention did stop at the sword seller, curious to see what weapons Essos had to offer. The merchant had a stand set before his store, having all sorts of exotic blades. His interest was quick to fall onto a Dothraki arakh which seemed like a mix of a sword and scythe with its curved shape. “Interesting design.” He muttered.

“Ah a fine eye sir. Dothraki maybe savages yet they have created an impressive weapon for mounted combat.” The merchant remarked.

Picking up the weapon, Geralt weighted in his grasp and gave a slow testing swing to get an idea of how the weapon arc was compared to other blades. “Can see why it’s favored on horseback. Perfect for cutting down targets on foot or countering other mounted riders…unless they have spears and lances.”

“A keen point sir. Dothraki often fight between each other, the simple villages they raid or fighting the soldiers of the Free Cities out in the plains.

“Still, weapon like this be ineffective against tougher especially steel plating.” He’d put the weapon down.

“Such specialized weapons have such flaws. Still if it interests you…”

“Perhaps another time.” Waving by, he’d continue on his way while the merchant grumbled in annoyance.

Soon he was reaching the end of the street and at last arrived at the largest building on the whole street. It didn’t look like a shop, more of a multistoried house if anything. The entrance was a masterpiece for sure, the door being made of carved weirwood depicting a hunting scene with pieces of ebony detailing and reinforcing the overall door. Beside the doors were two stone knights which at a glance seemed almost life like in their detail. Pushing the heavy doors opened, he’d enter the shop itself which was even more breath taking. All around the store proper were stands and racks full of the finest weapons and armor the Witcher had seen. Already he was pacing slowly around the main room, closely examining each item with fascinated interest.

“Damn…some of these crafts outmatch even Hattori’s work.” Geralt muttered, thinking back to the elven weaponsmith who had crafted his Witcher blades.

“Interested I see?” A male voice spoke up, making Geralt glance to the side to see a gray bearded man dressed in a black velvet coat with fine silver hammers embroidered on the cuffs. Around his neck was a large sapphire set on a heavy chain necklace. With the man nearing him, Geralt felt his medallion vibrate ever lightly, making him quite curious now.

“Indeed. Your reputation is well received from what I’ve heard.” Geralt answered back, offering one hand out for the man to shake firmly.

“Thank you. Tobho Mott at your service. I pride myself on my work yet give just as much credit goes to my workers and apprentices who aid me in my craft.” For a moment the man looked closely at Geralt’s face, a curious hint showing when he noticed the Witcher’s cat like eyes. However he didn’t remark about them or the man’s pale features for some reason.

“Quite humble to say such a thing.”

“It’s a life lesson I learned. Share credit where it is properly due. The lack of such respect was a key reason why I left Qohar so long ago.”

“Qohar? Sounds like a Free City to me.”

“You’d be right. The City of Sorcerers it is often called, considering the study on the mystical arts and knowledge. You can say my skills are unique to anyone you’ll find in all the Seven Kingdoms.”

The mention of magic had the Witcher give a curious look. “I take you use mystic knowledge for your crafting?”

“Heh, that is a trade secret my friend.” Mott said with a small sly smile. “Yet I’m sure you didn’t come to chatter. No doubt you’re here on business.”

Geralt nodded. “Indeed.” He’d shift his sheathed sword off his back, nodding to the nearby counter which he set it down. “Wanted to have my blade inspected. Been maintaining it well enough yet prefer an expert’s examination.”

Mott nodded as he’d look over the fine leather sheath, gaze examining the hilt and cross-guard before drawing the blade. The man’s eyes widened as he stared over the fine steel blade, being careful to set it down as if it was a priceless painting. “By the Black Goat…how did you come have such a weapon?” He muttered as he’d quickly have a pair of black gloves taken from his coat, putting them on as he’d begin to trace his fingers over the blades edges and flat. “The metal purity is unlike most blades I’ve seen.” Picking it up again, he’d weight it in both hands. “Very light. It is like Valyrian steel in nearly all aspects.”

However as he traced over the flat of the blade, he’d notice the faint runes infused into the blade. “Runes? Curious…symbolic or…” He’d mutter something under his breath, making Geralt’s medallion shake lightly for a moment as the man seemed to be doing some incantation. Nothing noticeable happened even with the Witcher’s sharp gaze watching the man closely. Mott finished his examination, glancing at Geralt with an intense look. “Tell me. Who are you and where did you get this sword.”

“It’s a long story good sir.” Geralt started yet Hott clapped his hands sharply.

Quickly a slim servant girl hurried out from a side room and courtesy to the both. “Prepare the sitting room for us. Brandy and spiced bread.” The smith calmly stated.

The girl nodded and hurried off without a word before Hott looked back at the Witcher. “Please, follow me sir…?”

“Geralt. Geralt of Rivia.” He’d sheath his sword and carry it along as Hott led him into parlor study. His sharp eyes looked over a few books, finding them quite curious since the topics seemed to involve more magical topics and lore.

“Geralt…can’t say I’ve heard of Rivia though.” Mott muttered as he’d sit in an armchair. “All I can say is that you’re the most unique guest I’ve had in a long time.” At this point Geralt sat down across from him, setting his sword beside his chair as he’d relaxed back. “How does a cat-eyed man come to own a blade that is so similar to Dawn?”

The Witcher recognized the name Dawn to be the legendary sword of Arthur Dayne, a great sword forged from a fallen star the House had discovered. “Because I had it forged that way. Meteorite ore infused with rare earthen metals. Not sure if this land even has such ores, yet overall this blade is made for Witchers.”

“Sounds like a name for a guild…a strange one at that.” Mott muttered, noting Geralt’s wolf medallion. By then the servant girl returned with drinks and fresh bread for the two, setting it down at the table before leaving without a word. “I would like to know more Geralt. You’re not like any knight or warrior I’ve met before…”

For a moment the Witcher didn’t answer as he’d glance to the brandy, picking the bottle up and filling both cups. “Not sure if I should tell you. Sort of a personal story.” He muttered.

“Then on my honor as a master smith and under the dark gaze of the Black Goat, I swear to guard whatever secrets you share with me. None will hear a word beyond this room.” The man said in a calm serious tone, rising his hand and setting his fingers in an odd gesture.

Geralt wasn’t sure if the man truly had magic about him. At best his power was on a basic level from what he could tell, yet it no doubt gave the man an edge with his work. “Very well then…” Picking up his cup, he’d take a drink and give a small sigh downing the strong liquor. “So it lets get to the point. I’m not from here…from this world I mean…”

**…**

The day went by quickly as Geralt and Mott chatted, the Witcher detailing his full story and history of his kind. The master smith was quiet and respectful, only speaking when he had a question to ask. He showed no doubt even on the most fantastical elements such as monsters and magic. Perhaps the man did believe in such things, considering the city he had been raised in.

“Amazing…I remembered some lectures back home in Qohor. Theories on worlds beyond the stars.” The smith muttered as he set his cup down. “You tale explains everything. Why your sword is made of such exotic and strong material along with the runes strengthening it to an even greater degree.” Sighing, he’d lean back in his seat. “Ah I’d trade everything just to see this world of yours and learn its crafting secrets.”

“Heh willing to trade that much for knowledge?” Geralt chuckled as he finished his drink.

“In Qohor, sacrifice is everything there. Equivalent exchange if you will.”

“Huh…remember running into young alchemist back home saying something like that. Young blond-haired fellow in a red coat with a strange bodyguard in odd full plate.” Geralt shrugged. “Sadly getting there is beyond our means. Still I may have an alternative means to getting what you seek.”

“Oh? A trade?”

Geralt nodded. “I have blueprints. Armor and weapons that only a master like yourself can make. I even have materials from home. Meteorite ore, dark steel and dimeritium.”

“Quite the offer, yet what would you want in return?”

“You’re crafting skills and expertise on a certain matter. My gear maybe good yet they can do with some improvements. I’m taking part in the upcoming tournament and I’m going to need every edge I can get going against full armored knights.”

“And the certain matter you mentioned?

“I’m doing an investigation for the Lord Eddard Stark. It’s a private matter, yet it involves tracing down the owner of a certain weapon. A Valyrian steel dagger with a dragon bone hilt.”

Mott thought for a moment over the description. “That is quite a unique weapons. Valyrian steel weapons are very one of a kind and often related to family Houses or rich individuals. In Essos many treasure hunters brave the ruins of the old empire for such lost weapons. Most of the weapons you see today such as Ice from House Stark were gifted to the family for showing loyalty to the old Targaryen rulers.”

“So that means most weapons can be traced back by their unique design?”

“Exactly. Valyrian steel can be reforged yet it’s a complicated process to ensure the metal keeps its unbreakable strength and strong edge. Lucky I’m one of few known individuals on the continent with such skills. I think only a handful of Maesters who have dedicated to the mystic studies and forging can do the process.”

“Very interesting. Anyway I’ll be sure to have you examine the dagger once it’s delivered to me. Besides that I’d like to have my armor and swords worked on.”

“As long as you share those blueprints and materials that sounds fair to me. If anything special comes up though I’m sure we can negotiate on any additional costs.”

The two firmly shook hands to seal the deal before they’d get out of their seats. “Anyway it has been good talking with you Mott. I’ll be sure to return tomorrow.”

“It’s been a pleasure Geralt. Until next time.”

The master smith escorted the Witcher out of his lavish store and home. Once the heavy doors were closed and locked behind him, Geralt began to long walk back down the Street of Steel. Half the day had just past by chatting with Mott yet he felt he had gained a useful ally. Rubbing one hand over his chin, he’d realize that his beard had grown out quite a lot. He had ignored it because of how long he had been traveling, no doubt giving him a fitting Northerner look.

“Guess a trim is needed if I plan to stay at the Keep.” He muttered as he moved along. His next destination was the Street of Silk, guessing it may be a good chance to privately chat with Lord Baelish if he was at his brothel. At the least he planned to visit a barber that he heard had a shop set up on that street, no doubt for customers wanting to look presentable at the many businesses of pleasure. He’d head back to the main city square before the Great Sept then head northward up the Street of Sisters, a long stretch of road which lead between the massive chapel and the ruined Dragon Pit.

Heading towards the ruin, the surroundings had a more lavish quality as the area around the western side of the Dragon Pit hill. From his understand this was the noble district where the richer merchants and nobility lived in. Some homes were built along the hillside, old but well-maintained structures that no doubt traced back to King’s Landing founding. Yet on the other side of the hill laid the opposite, the packed and dirty slums of Flea Bottom. Because of the hill’s shape, all the waste and trash from the west side ended up on the east which was one reason for the slum’s sorry state.

A short search soon led to him finding a barbershop, a small yet welcoming establishment fitting for the district. The owner was an older gentlemen who gave a curious look to Geralt, no doubt because of the pale hair and yellow cat eyes. “My…either my sight is failing me today or you have cat eyes.” The man chuckled.

“It isn’t. Had these for most of my life after an umm…alchemy experiment.” Geralt calmly stated as he’d enter the shop which little more than a small room with a comfortable chair facing a mirror with counter close-by with razors and scissors set across it.

“No doubt an interesting tale, yet one I won’t pry into. Overall you seem normal enough to me…ah…eyes and pale features aside.” The man pulled the chair back before the mirror. “Though I take you’re here for a trim. I can tell you no doubt been traveling for a while and need a little sprucing up.”

Geralt nodded as he’d unsling his sword off his back and set it beside the chair before sitting down. “You guessed right. Have an important meeting with Lord Baelish.”

“Ah, the Master of Coin. A charming fellow, always come here to get his hair styled.” The barber remarked as he’d get case of shaving cream from a sealed bowl, rubbing it along Geralt bearded chin and cheeks. “I can say my business draws quite the unique costumers. Even have King Robert visit a few times in the early days of his reign.”

“Wait you’ve had the King visit you?” Geralt remarked in surprise as the man got one of the shaving razors.

“I guess my skills are just that good. He’s was a good patron, although the Gold Cloaks always breathing down my neck while I work.” The barber chuckled as he began to drag the sharp blade along the Witcher’s chin. Geralt did tense slightly since when it came to shaving, he always felt a bit vulnerable having a blade so close to his neck. “I worked my way from Flea Bottom, worked for coppers back then. Took a decade to save enough along with a war to…uh…free up business.”

“Quite the good fortune you’ve had then.”

“Thank you.” The barber would be silent for a while as he’d focus on his work, having Geralt’s beard halfway shaved.

“So I take you know a lot about your more renown patrons. Maybe you can share a little insight about Lord Baelish.”

“Not much to say really. A youthful man full of ambition. I can relate to him well considering how he’s risen from a lowly noble standing to a valued member of Small Council.” The barber muttered. “Never met a man more cunning when it comes to finance and coin.”

“Sounds like quite the business man.”

“Indeed. Some of the nobility do look down on him still despite his success. Unfair I say.” Getting a clean towel, he’d wipe Geralt’s face clean of any remaining shaving cream. Once, the Witcher examined himself in the mirror, rubbing across his smooth face before giving a small nod of approval.

“Smooth shave. Very good.”

“Thank you.” Setting the razor aside, he’d get a set scissors out before snipping at Geralt’s white hair.

“So any advice with dealing with him?”

“Best be prepared to offer up something for his help. The man always expects something in return be it coin, favors or influence.” The haircut didn’t take too long to finish as the man got a brush to sweep Geralt’s shoulders clean of any stray hair.

“I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks for the cut.” Getting out of the seat, Geralt quickly paid the man, adding a little extra as a tip for his advice.

“Seven have fortune for you sir.” The barber said with a smile before the Witcher left, before then focusing on cleaning the floor of hair.

Geralt continued on has way, having only to travel a bit further until he’d at last reach the lavish brothel. The building reminded him of place Dandelion had inherited, although the bard had of course changed the establishment into theater tavern. Baelish’s brothel was at least twice as big and fienly decorated to give it almost a royal appeal to its guests. The lobby had a mix of seats and lodging couches set around for waiting patrons while at the far end of the room there was small counter where a middle aged woman, no doubt the mistress, stood by. She wore a fine corset and long skirt, practical for her managing work, yet appealing to the eyes. Her attention was quickly set on Geralt who she’d give a charming smile.

“Greets white haired one. Lord Baelish has been expecting you.” She said in a cheery manner.

“Really? I was really here for an unplanned visit.” Geralt asked.

“The master always pays attention to what happens here in King’s Landing. He knew you’d visit sooner than later.” The woman moved around the counter and nodded to a hallway off to the side. “If you’ll come this way sir.”

Geralt followed along deeper into the brothel, his sharp ears catching muffled moans, pants and giggles becoming for the private rooms set along the hallway. Soon they’d arrive at the main lounging area were the girls and visiting paying patrons could relax in. There was one man chatting with a girl on his lap in one corner, yet overall the ladies were talking among each other or laying around in very…suggestive ways. In fact most of them were in varying states of dress and undress, from young and slim to mature and curvy. Plenty of curious sly gazes settled on him, inviting looks hinting in their eyes as he passed along. He did glance over a few of the whores, yet he’d focus on following the mistress along down another hallway. Arriving at the door to another room, the mistress knocked at the door before a male voice spoke out.

“Come in.”

The mistress opened the door for Geralt, letting him step into a regal study. Littlefinger was sitting behind a desk, shifting through letters and documents, no doubt relating to his businesses or finances of the Kingdoms. The noble was dressed more casually though no less fancy, wearing a dark silver colored robe with a light grey vest and fine dark leather pants. The man had a calculating look in his eyes as he’d glance up at the Witcher, before giving a small welcoming smile.

“Welcome Geralt. I hope your tour of the city has gone well so far.”

The Witcher nodded as he moved closer to the desk, resting one hand on one of the chairs set on his side. “Well enough. Been to plenty of cities and capitals over the years, yet King’s Landing is quite different.”

“Oh? And what makes it so different.”

Geralt shrugged. “Has the makings to match up to capital of Nilfgaard, the largest empire where I come from. Yet here…there is an obvious divide.”

“A divide you say?”

“It’s in every city although here it stands out. I’ll admit I won’t know fully until I see Flea Bottom. Here though you see the glamor of the rich and noble, yet behind it all is the poor and lowly that brace it all up.”

Littlefinger nodded slightly. “It is the fact of life Witcher. The strong step over the weak, yet in turn the strong shield the weak from those that wish harm onto them.”

“Right…because all wars waged have for the good of the common man.” The Witcher’s voice having his signature dry sarcasm to it.

“I’m not one to seek war Geralt, since it is often bad for business for me. Men like King Robert are the ones who crave it and care not for who lies in their path.” The nobleman calmly remarked. “The battles I face are through the exchange of coin and the art of words.”

“A poetic way to describe your line of work.”

“Yet a fitting one don’t you agree?” Littlefinger chuckled. “However I doubt you came here for enlightening chatter. I know you’re here on more important matters relating to the Starks.” He’d gestured to the chair Geralt was near although the Witcher shook his head.

“Think I’ll stand. Been sitting around long enough today.”

“As you wish”

Geralt paced a bit around the office study, casually glancing over a few of the books on Lord Baelish’s shelves. “Point is you’re right. I’m helping Lord Stark on a personal matter relating to his second youngest son.”

“Yes…Bran Stark. I had heard of the news of his tragic accident and crippling. From what Eddard shared, the boy has at least awaken.”

Geralt was surprised Eddard had search such details, yet didn’t question Baleish on the matter. “It is, yet I can tell you his fall wasn’t an accident. That is one reason why I’ve come to King’s Landing.”

For a moment Littlefinger was silent, one hand lightly brushing over his short well-trimmed beard. “Interesting. That is troubling to hear yet…” A hint of realization showed in his eyes followed by a sly gleam. “It was someone from the royal family wasn’t it? It is the only explanation why you’d rush so quickly from the North and to the capital.”

Geralt remained silent, impressed that Petyr was so quick to make that deduction. The nobleman knew his answer was correct as he’d move to stand up from his seat.

“You know well who really has the power here in the capital. Robert may act as if he’s the unshakable ruler of the land, yet the Lannisters are the ones pulling the strings. Cersei manipulates through the courts as her role as queen while her father Tywin dangles the purse strings over our heads. In time Jaime will no doubt raise to the rank of commander of the King’s Guard, furthering their hold. One day Joffrey with Sansa no doubt married as his queen, thus sealing a great dynasty for House Lannister. Overall a flawless take over.”

For a moment Geralt didn’t answer, thinking over the facts Littlefinger detailed. “It is a cunning plan. No doubt of Lord Tywin’s doing. From what I’ve heard the man is quite the political and military tactician.”

“Indeed. I’ve met the man only a few times, yet he takes pride in his family’s rise to success.”

“But in the end, you’re the one who has been borrowing from him constantly.” Geralt quickly added.

Petyr chuckled a bit nervously. “You must understand Geralt. King Robert isn’t a man you argue with when it comes to his demands. As I said during the meeting, my duty is to procure the money and use it how the King wishes.”

“Even if it weighs down on the country?”

“Geralt, if I refused the King, he’d simply dismiss me and replace with me someone more agreeable to him. While you may disagree on how I fund the King’s…requests, I do my best to soften each loan taken.”

“Right…” The Witcher seemed disbelieving with that answer yet didn’t press it. “Anyway politics aside, I still plan to find the truth in the end. How I will handle it from there is another matter.”

For a moment Littlefinger was silent in thought before nodding. “You play a risky game yet in the end I can tell you’re a level-headed man, not one to let emotions overcome reason. At the least I’ll gladly help, yet this is for Lady Catelyn’s sake mainly. I care for her dearly and to know she faced such sorrow pains me deeply.”

Geralt felt Baelish was being dramatic with his reasons, but the way he spoke of Catelyn was indeed quite affectionate. He remember how the man spoke about the woman, seeming to have tried to win her hand in marriage yet failed to do so, having lost a duel from what he knew was Eddard’s dead older brother. Obviously despite the brother’s death, Eddard took his place in wedding Lady Catelyn.

“So then what can you do to help me? I take you have plenty of connections throughout King’s Landing.”

“More than that. I have eyes and ears across the many other regions and even Essos. Only Varys has a stronger web of agents then I do.”

Geralt crossed his arms, giving an odd look to the man. “Strange that the King financier has such a network of informants.”

“I must be quickly notified about what happens around the Kingdoms. If anything I am sharing quite the secretive information on how I work to you Witcher.”

“Fair enough…” The Witcher muttered with a shrug. “I guess I should explain more about what happened in Winterfell. Thing is lady Catelyn is coming here to the capital and she must be brought in for questioning as quickly as possible.”

A curious look hinted Littlefinger’s eyes, seeming to have not known of this news. “Really now? What would drive her to travel so far south then?”

Geralt sighed as he’d pace to the nearby chair, tugging it out before sitting down. “Best you sit down Lord Baelish. A bit of a tale on this one matter.”

**…**

At least an hour passed as Geralt explained the full story about attempted assassination on Bran and how Catelyn nearly died defending him. The news of her being hurt troubled Petyr, yet he remained focused as the Witcher told the man how she was quickly arriving by boat, possibly reaching the city within the week. When he got into the details of the attack, Littlefinger showed a curious interest at the mention of the Valyrian steel dagger that had been used.

“That weapon. It sounds familiar. Does it have a dragon bone hilt as well?”

Geralt had not mentioned that detail yet, drawing a hint of surprise from him. “That is correct yet how-”

“Because it use to be mine.” The nobleman calmly explained. “Most houses own grand valyrian swords yet my simple family we had little more than that dagger. It is the finest of its kind yet meant more for appearance then battle.”

“So then how did you lose it? Dagger or not, a valyrian weapon is a valuable piece.”

“Heh indeed and the tale is a bit embarrassing really. All my life I’ve taken risks and while I often have success, I also have had my failures. A month before the royal family left for the North there was a tourney for Joffrey’s name day. It was quite the exciting event as the joust led to a great clash between the Jaime Lannister and the young yet talented Loras Tyrell.”

“Let me guess…you betted the weapon?”

“Indeed. It was the only way to match the tidy fortune that Tyrion Lannister offered up. I betted on Jaime winning while Lord Tyrion betted against him. Despite man’s skill, Loras is a master when it comes to the lance, though it was a close match.”

For a moment Geralt thought over this information, finding some of it odd from his point of view. He had after all stayed with Tyrion for months and knew the dwarf quite well. The man looked up to his brother and deeply understood his skills, which made it odd for Tyrion to suddenly doubt them during a bet. “So you lost the dagger to Tyrion. Strange then that it is missing from his ownership.”

“With it being left in the Red Keep leaves it open to being stolen or perhaps he had gifted it to someone else.” Littlefinger suggested. “Sadly my knowledge of the dagger ends there but I can suggest some leads. Varys be your best choice to learn of anything odd going about the Keep. Nothing rarely escapes that man’s knowledge.”

“Guess I’ll have to plan a visit with the good Master of Whispers then.” Already Geralt moved to get out of his seat yet continued to speak. “One other thing. If you get word of Lady Catelyn entering or roaming the city, I’d like it if you escort her here and inform Lord Stark.”

“Of course. Overall I wish you the best of luck in your search Witcher.” He’d stand up, one hand out to be shook yet Geralt didn’t take the offer. He just had a gut feeling, a natural distrust of the man.

“Thank you for your support. Until next time Lord Baelish.” With that he’d leave the study, yet just as he closed the door, he swore the man had a sly smirk on his face, though for what he wasn’t sure. He’d retrace his steps through the brothel, getting a few teasing offers as he passed through the sitting room yet ignoring the alluring girls. Leaving out the lobby, he’d only give a short wave to the mistress who said a quick goodbye, before heading out to the main street.

**…**

By now the sun was setting low, casting a yellow light across the tan colored buildings. He’d make his way back southward towards the main square before the Sept, deciding to head back to the Red Keep. From a distance he’d get quite the view as the setting sun cast a beautiful light across the red stone structure. The walk to the keep was uneventful yet nearing the gates he’d see the guards were speaking with a short curly haired fellow, who seemed to be arguing with. The man was dressed in deep green coat and tanned vest along with fine leather pants and boots. At his belt he had a sheathed thin blade that reminded Geralt of Arya’s gifted sword, although this one was double in size. The man’s overall look reminded him of a duelist, especially with the way he stood, relaxed yet on guard as if to spring forward at a moment’s notice.

“I’m sorry sir but we’re under orders to not let you in.”

“Surely this is a mistake good sir. King Robert himself said I was free to come and go from the palace whenever I pleased.” The man remarked, his voice having a quite foreign accent to it. “Syrio, First Blade of Brovos has long a friend of the court. Please tell the King of my arrival and surely you will see I am welcomed.”

“We can’t follow such a demand sir.” The guard started before noticing Geralt approaching. “Please sir, we have others waiting entry. Sir Geralt is a very important guest who-”

Hearing the name, the curly haired man seemed to snap to attention and turned about quickly. “Geralt…THE Geralt?” He asked curiously. The man had a sharp and inquisitive look in his eyes as he gazed at the Witcher.

“Let me guess you’ve heard of me? Slayer of a dozen Wildlings and challenger of the Hound?” Geralt quickly asked.

The man gave a wide grin. “Sharp aren’t you. Indeed rumor travels fast. I thought this country would lack any more interesting individuals yet then I hear of you.” He’d brush his lightly bearded face, nodding his head. “Yes you have an experienced look. Yet I wonder how does one like you do the dance…much less with a sword like that?”

At this point one of the guards interrupted. “Excuse me. We do need to lock the gates for the night.”

Geralt and Syrio’s was silent, yet in the end the Witcher spoke up. “Then let us in. I’ll take responsibility of Syrio’s as guest.”

For a moment the guard seemed ready to argue yet he’d sigh and nodded. “Very well sir.” He and the guard gave an order as the men behind the gates raised the portcullis up for them. The guards escorting Geralt and Syrio’s towards the keep before moving onto the barracks, no doubt to rest the night away.

“Many thanks friend. It’s troubling that this…misunderstanding happened.”

“Any idea who tried to keep you out?”

“A few. The bald eunuch who perhaps thinks me a spy from Essos or maybe the golden-haired queen who sees me as bad influence around her husband.” The man shrugged. “Maybe the good King simply forget to inform the guards.”

“Heh…perhaps. So is it true you’re a guest here?” By now the two were walking through the main hall, heading towards the living quarters for the guests. “You mentioned Bravos which I know is in Essos.”

“That be correct. I’ve come here to see more of the world beyond Free Cities. King’s Landing is a more…rough capital for sure but the Seven Kingdoms have been wondrous to explore. King Robert took notice of me during one of his smaller tourneys when I showed the Water Dance against one of his knights. Ever since I’ve always been welcomed here at the Red Keep.

“Water Dance?”

“It is the fighting style of my city. It requires speed, grace and balance to master this style of fencing.”

“Fencing huh? My master was renowned for his dueling skill and taught me everything there was to his style.”

“Oh? Very interesting.” Geralt saw the familiar look in the man’s eyes, the exciting look of a challenge. “Perhaps a sparring match one day, yes?”

The Witcher nodded. “Maybe. I have a lot of work to do.”

“Whenever you feel free Geralt. A wise warrior never rushes into a fight he doesn’t seek.” The man chuckled before he’d move aside down one hallway. “Until next time!”

Watching the man stroll off down the dimly lit corridor, Geralt tensed as his sharp ears heard someone shifting behind in from another hallway. By reflex one hand shifted to the sword on his back, though a soft voice had him stop him from drawing it.

“Relax Witcher. I’m not some assassin if that is what worries you.” The smooth voice of Varys reassured as the chubby spy master slipped out of the shadows. Geralt had to admit the man was very sneaky despite his appearance. It made sense why he had earned the nickname the Spider.

“Habit. Blame it on bad past experience.” Geralt muttered back.

“Interested. You’ll have to share the details on that matter.”

“Doubtful.”

The blunt answer didn’t make the spymaster’s smile falter as he’d step more into the light. “You’ve been quite busy today. I know you spent plenty of time exploring our fair city yet did pay quite the visit to one of Littlefinger’s…establishments.”

“Personal business.”

“Pleasure or…”

“Personal.” Geralt repeated, a cold annoyed tone to his voice.

“Touchy now. No need to be defensive Witcher, I know you were there seeking Lord Baelish help. He is a resourceful man, yet not one you should be quick to trust.” Varys said with a small sigh.

“And I’m to believe you’re more trusting?”

“Simply yes. My interests are far less self-serving then Petyr. I care simply of the stability of Kingdoms and the wellbeing of the people.”

Geralt was silent for a moment. “You’ll have to excuse me if I’m doubtful on that claim. I’ve met a plenty men who’ve said the same thing.”

“Which is one reason why I see you worth my time.” Varys stepped closer, a quite serious look in his eyes. “I don’t know what you are hiding yet I know very well that wherever you came from is either far beyond anyone’s scope or you’ve proven to be a capable liar. Either way you’re an outsider with a wide and unique set of skills but with a seemingly lacking interest towards self-gain.”

“So what does that mean to you Varys?”

“It means you’re trustworthy for the moment to me. I can say I’ve never seen anyone bold enough to refuse the King like you did yesterday. The man seemed torn between anger and respect for such an act.” He’d pause, waving one hand in a dismissive gesture “That aside I know what you’re seeking. Answers to young Stark’s fall and the mysterious death of the late Jon Arryn.”

“Lord Arryn’s passing is more of Lord Stark’s concern.”

“Yet in the end it is the reason why we’re all here isn’t it? Think over that Geralt…”

Indeed Geralt was realizing that Varys had a point. Someone must have set up the last Hand’s death considering his failing health was sudden and passing quick. In turn that lead to Ned’s offer to become the new Hand and in turn the events of Bran’s fall. While the fall he couldn’t find a logical link to it all, the assassination attempt did to a degree. Was it to remove a distraction or to be a threat and warning?

“Do you believe the Lannisters are behind this?” Geralt said in a hush tone.

Varys moved closer, his sharp eyes glancing about to ensure they weren’t being watched. “I have suspicions yet nothing to confirm them. I work on certainties and the Lannisters do well to keep their darker secrets buried away.”

“So then what’s prevents you from finding out yourself?”

“Oh I could…though they’d find a way to trace back to me. Yet you can work more independently without fear. After all if the Hound doesn’t scare you, then what can?” Geralt didn’t answer, so Varys continued to speak. “My suggestion is that you trace back to Arryn’s work. Learn what he was doing in the last months of his life. That is the best advice I can give safely.” The chubby man moved back to his dark hallway. “I’d recommend you look to Lord Stark. If anything hasn’t shared everything he knows.” With those final words the man slipped away, slipper clad feet patting across the floor until they faded.

For a moment Geralt stood there, giving a sigh as he’d turn down another hallway and for his room. “Spymasters…” He cursed lowly. Yet he couldn’t deny the man had given worthwhile clues to him. While mysterious, he could tell Varys meant what he said in wanting to help the common people of the Kingdom. Why was no doubt a personal matter, yet he felt it be connected to the strange man’s past. He’d have to learn the full story in time.

Unlocking the door to his room, he’d first quickly check the chest to ensure his sword, armor and supplies were safe. With everything accounted for he’d change into fresh clothes for the night and set his steel blade close to the bedside. It wasn’t hard for the Witcher to drift to sleep, mind and body resting yet senses on guard for any lurking surprises which, thankful, did not come tonight.

**…**

The next few days were a bit of a standstill for the investigation so far. The issue was that everyone was constantly working and moving about, be it through the massive Keep or into the vast city. Tyrion was always off, no doubt chatting with the visiting nobility that was arriving every day. Eddard was often in meetings or locked away in his private tower, making it hard to get a moment of his time. If anything he felt Ned was doing his own part in finding clues, while keeping a low profile by following his duties as the King’s Hand.

In the meantime Geralt would return to Mott every day the show off his silver sword, Witcher armor and the collection of exotic materials. The master smith spent hours examining everything that the Witcher brought with him, showing a quite studious nature in the man along with his attention to detail.

“This silver blade is a work of art!” He praised as he finished examining the blade much like he had done with the steel one. “The hilt is a master piece with the wolf heads. If anything this seems like a weapon fitting of the Starks. I’m curious, does the more ornate style have any reason to it.”

“More symbolic really yet the notes say they can affect certain creatures, sort of a warding. Can’t say it’s worked though.” Geralt answered back.

“Either way this weapon is impressive. Shame the silver does make the sword less effective against armor and metal weapons. The weapon be worn out quickly if used in such a way.” The man’s attention shifted onto Geralt’s armor, a mix of fine studded leather and dark iron chain pieces. “Now this armor is quite impressive. Leather work isn’t a craft I work often with yet the material is far tougher. It’s also light and flexible, making the mix of chainmail and leather evenly balanced.”

“The leather is from the monsters I’ve slain. When the stuff is properly treated it can easily stop common blades although still leaves one bruised.” Geralt explained.

“Fascinating. A shame you have no samples left.” Mott muttered. “Yet this armor isn’t going to protect you that well against the quality weapons the knights will use in the tournament. I understand you prefer light armor for the mobility, relying on dodging about, but in the Melee you won’t be able to avoid every attack coming from all sides.”

Geralt had to admit the master smith had a point. His armor was good yet it was designed more to fight monsters who could easily rip plate armor apart, requiring tough yet lighter armor for avoiding such strong and quick attacks. “I take you have some ideas in mind?”

The smith nodded. “Your armor can be reinforced with light plating in key spots that shouldn’t hamper your movement too much or limit your flexibility. I think I’ll work on some designs and you can decide what is worth adding to the armor set.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Geralt collected all his gear into his pack, leaving behind the master smith’s payment of meteorite ore and dark iron. Already the man had a pleased grin on his face, considering the materials were a worth a fortune no doubt and could create quite priceless weapons or armor.

“If you wished it I’d make a whole armory of gear for you with just these supplies as payment. I promise all my work will beyond perfection.”

Geralt smirked at the man’s boast yet he couldn’t help but believe it to a degree. “Take care Mott. I’ll check in next week.” Leaving the lavish smithy, Geralt would take the long walk back to the Red Keep, hoping today he’d be able to question Tyrion about the dagger he supposedly won or with Ned about looking into what Jon Arryn was doing in the last months of his life. There was no incidents on the walk there or getting inside the keep.

Heading through the living quarters, he’d notice Sansa scrolling along the hallway, seeming to be heading for the gardens. He hadn’t talk to her ever since the incident at the Inn, making him worry how the girl felt after her dire wolf was killed. She’d move on ahead, while he’d hurry to his room, packing and locking his gear back inside the chest.

Following the hallway and down a set of stairs, Geralt could just see Sansa about leave the open hallway that connected to the lush gardens. “Sansa, mind if I speak with you?” He spoke up to get her attention.

The girl at first seemed startled, perhaps not expecting someone to speak up to her while she was deep in her thoughts. See the Witcher she did calm slightly, yet her hands grasped together nervously. “I…of course Geralt.” She said hesitantly before letting him near her. They’d begin to walk down the trail, the girl glancing away slightly to look at the well trim hedges blooming with flowers.

“So how is the Red Keep been so far?” He asked after a long moment of silence.

“The Keep is lovely, almost like the castles you hear in the old tales or like that Toussaint which you have shared.” She said, her tone sounding more cheerful. “My room has such a wonderful view of the ocean and the chambers I do my studies make Winterfell’s seem so plain in comparison.” However a small annoyed look hinted her face. “That is when Arya isn’t be bothersome. She rarely stays put and has been rude ever since the Inn.” The mention of the place had her take a deep breath, but she’d calm herself quickly.

“I understand how troubling it was losing Lady.” Geralt spoke calmly to her. “She didn’t deserve it.”

“If Arya hadn’t…been playing around or kept her wolf in check…it wouldn’t have happened.”

“You can’t blame your sister over what happened.” He quickly answered back. “Do you forget how the Prince swung at her? If the Nymeria hadn’t stopped him…” However he stopped himself, realizing what he was suggesting.

Sansa gulped worrying considering the Witcher’s tone, which had been cold for a moment. “Joffrey’s…complicated. He’s not use to being around other people.” She explained. “After what happened...he came to apologize, pleading that he didn’t want Lady hurt.” The girl sighed, seeming emotional on the matter. “He just needs someone at his side. Someone like me.”

Geralt was very much baffled with what the girl was saying. Either she was deluding herself or she was that blind to the prince’s troubling nature. It only took one conversation with the boy back in Winterfell to know he was a controlling sadist in the making. “You shouldn’t be so quick to put such faith into him. You two may be planned to be wed, yet it’s not something to be so eager for.”

“How would you know? What would someone like you understand about love!?” Sansa snapped out suddenly, although even she seemed unsure with such an accusation.

The remark did make him think of home and Yennifer, wondering if she was worrying about him or planning on punishing him for his reckless choice in chasing after Ciri. He thought made him smile, which Sansa noticed, making her angered expression fade to look of embarrassment. “You’re young Sansa. There is much to see and enjoy in life then just rushing off to marry who you believe to be your noble prince.” He answered back. “Arya knows that…and something you too should try to understand.”

The girl was silent, seeming to have a conflicting feelings from the way she shifted and glanced away. “I should go now Geralt. I’m not here for just a stroll…” She’d turn down one of the side trails. “Queen Cersei wishes to see me and…I can’t keep her waiting.” Hurrying along, she didn’t give the Witcher a chance to speak up or even say goodbye.

Sighing, he’d turn back to return to the main keep. Already he had a bad feeling about Sansa, fearing she was being lulled towards the Lannister’s influence, mainly through the queen and the prince. He had hoped the girl be more open minded yet she seemed too lost in her naivety or fearful of the truth. He just hoped this didn’t become a danger one day.

**…**

It had now been a nearly a week since arriving at King’s Landing and so far Geralt’s investigation was at a standstill. Everything hinged on Catelyn and the assassin’s dagger in her possession. Since once again Tyrion and Ned were seemingly busy during the late morning, the Witcher decided it was time deeper tour into the Flea Bottom slums. He had checked the outskirts of the district, feeling it was time to see the rougher side of the capital. Of course he made sure to be carrying his steel sword for this little trip.

The route to Flea Bottom was along a long road that stretched between the Grand Sept square and to the Iron Gate to the far north. As he went further along the eastern side of the Dragon Pit hill, the more worn and packed the buildings became. What really stood out though was the smell. He was use to the dirty scents of the city and indeed even the Red Keep had some foul air drift its way. Yet within Flea Bottom is was an assault on his very honed senses.

“Ugh…place be a paradise for a zegul…” He gagged as he’d stroll through the packed street, slipping through the traveling crowds of lowly peasants. A few gazes did look to him, people snickering at how he seemed a bit stunned by the foul smells, although he was quickly getting used to it all. There were so many things happening all at once, making it hard for even him to keep track although he made sure to have one hand close to his coin purse as trio of kids got bit too close at times and even gave a testing tug at the pouch.

“Yep…classic slum life.” He muttered as the kids hurried by again, no doubt to make another attempt at snagging his gold. This time though he had one hand reach out stopping the three who nearly tumbled into each other. “You should cut that out.”

One of the kids gave a small innocent grin. “Do what sire? We’re just playing?” The other two nodded in agreement, giving their own cute smiles back.

The Witcher shrugged as he’d reach into the pouch, pulling out a gold dragon which the trio stared at wide eyed. He bet this was their first look such a coin in their very young lives. “I’m looking for the biggest market here. Guide me there, answer my questions and I’ll make it two.”

“The Leather Mill! The Leather Mill!” The three quickly chanted out, jumping eagerly about. “They sell all the leathers used in the city. Even the higher merchants come there to buy!” One kid remarked. “Sell best Bowl of Brown too! Hey…how much do you think we can buy with a gold dragon?” Already the three were chattering, nearly forgetting about Geralt.

“Kids…focus.” He muttered, holding the coin up. “Can you show me the way then?”

The three nodded and hurried around him, nudging and tugging the Witcher along the alleys until he followed along. “I bet we could buy a couple goats with one coin!” One kid giggled. “Nah, not if da wastes it on the ale!” Another argued while the third focused on Geralt, seeming now to notice his cat eyes. “How you get cat eyes? My sis always says she wanted those.” The boy suddenly got a teasing poke to the side by the girl. “Did not! Besides he got wolf eyes if you ask me.”

The two arguing was amusing yet he’d speak up. “More like cat eyes. Trust me…was painful to get them.”

“Aw…be nice to have.” The girl whined before her brother spoke up. “So what questions you got sire? I mean…we know a lot about Flea Bottom.”

Geralt thought for a moment. “Any famous types around? Well-liked and reputable people?”

“Ah! The Onion Knight!” One boy quickly answered. “He’s a rich man! One of them uuhhh…sailor men? He has a big boat and trades here all the time.”

“Onion Knight? Very odd title for a merchant.”

“Well he got it for sneaking food during the war. Not sure where or for who…but they made him a knight!” The boy explained.

A short while walking and the group soon entered the largest square the massive slum had to offer. Stands were set all around were people were selling meats, vegetables, tools and leather. Geralt strolled around while the kids hurried about, greeting people and checking out items, no doubt debating on what they’d buy. When he thought about it, he realized that they wouldn’t have an easy way of getting change for one gold dragon, much less two.

“Should have brought smaller coins.” He muttered before one of the kids tugged at his arm.

“There he is! The knight!” The boy pointed out.

At one of the larger stands there was a man dressed in fine dark and brown leather clothes, fitting garb for a higher ranked sailor, perhaps a captain. The man seemed to be gentlemen with balding yet well-kept gray hair and a trimmed full beard. Whenever the man raised his left gloved hand up, Geralt noticed how all his fingers except the thumb were shortened to the second knuckle.

“I need twenty crates of toughened leather within the month good sir. It’s a lot, but you know I’ll be paying the full price for it all.” The man said, his tone of voice quite formal and well-spoken.

“I know your gold is good Davos but that’s just such a massive order. My tannery will be hard pressed to meet the demand.” The merchant muttered. “Why not get the rest of it ordered from the others?”

“Because your quality is the best. I’ll give you an extra week to get the order finished since I’ll be moving in and out of port doing other shipments.”

The merchant thought for a moment and nodded. “Very well. That sounds doable to me.” The two men shook hands before Davos got quite the sizable coin pouch out to pay the upfront costs before turning about, nearly running into the Witcher.

“Ah excuse me!” He quickly apologize before getting a good look of the Witcher, noticing his white hair and yellow cat eyes, making him stare for a moment. “I umm…are your eyes alright sir?”

“Just fine. Don’t worry I get that reaction a lot.” Geralt casually answered back. “So I take you’re the uh…Onion Knight I’ve heard about.” By this point the kids nearby hurried to Davos, giggling as they hurried around the old man.

“Ah I take these rascals told you about my amusing title.” He’d give a playfully ruffle to one boy’s hair, making the boy duck away. “Aye that be me. Really the knight title is something I think casually off. Here I’m simply an old resident of Flea Bottom who knows wants pay respects to his old home.”

“So you’re common born who’s been knighted? Quite impressive. Only know a few who got such the honor…me being one such.”

“Heh, guess we can relate on that matter.” Davos chuckled before the kids hurried to Geralt.

“So can we have our gold dragons now?” The girl said with a small grin.

Geralt glanced to the trader who’d quickly realize the Witcher’s little problem. “He owes you coin doesn’t he? Yes a gold dragon is quite valuable but easy lose…or be stolen.” Opening his coin pouch though he’d take out a bunch of silver coins with a moon on it. “I can give you that much in silver. You buy all the things you want without worry of losing those two gold coins.”

The kids muttered, seeming to debate on the matter before nodding in agreement. Davos grinned before getting a smaller pouch to put the silver in. The kids took the pouch, looking in to see their small fortune with joyful looks on their face.

“Don’t spend it all. Get your families a real meal, good tools or a healthy animal.” Geralt advised as he’d hand Davos the gold coins in exchange.

“Yes White Wolf!” The kids answered back before hurrying away, no doubt to the nearest sweets stand.

Davos sighed as he glanced back at Geralt. “Sort of a bad choice dealing with gold in these parts. Silvers and coppers are more reasonable.”

“Blame it on the mirror merchant I dealt with.” The Witcher muttered. “Only traded in gold dragons.

“Seven…must be quite a rich and famed man to trade in such a way.”

“You have no idea.” The two strolled through the market, continuing their chat. “Anyway, guess some proper introduction is needed. Geralt of Rivia, Witcher and advisor to Lord Eddard Stark.”

“Davos Seaworth. Trader and knight in service to Lord Stannis Baratheon who is currently the Master of Ships. You could say I’m his right-hand man when it comes to the navy.”

“I take he is having you run some major deliveries considering your order.”

“Aye. Takes a lot to make a warship. We’ve been rebuilding ever since the Rebellion and only been expanding since King Robert has been ruling. Man may prefer battle out on the field yet understands the need for a good defense at sea.”

“Especially with the threat of horse raiders ready to charge over it.” Geralt jested.

“So you’ve heard those rumors? I can say I’m just as doubtful. Dothraki are a vast and fearsome horde, yet the sea is their greatest fear above all else.” Davos remarked. “So you say you serve Lord Stark? Curious…what brings you to Flea Bottom then?”

“An investigation. I can’t say much more besides that it’s a personal matter for Lord Stark.”

“Interesting.” The man muttered as they’d stop at one of the stalls, letting Davos eye over some of the tools laid out. “I can say I know every honest merchant and craftsman in these slums along with a good deal of more…shady types from the old days.”

“From the smuggling days I take?”

“Not a favored piece of history…one I’m honest about.” He’d raise his left hand, showing the shortened fingers. “Stannis made sure that I paid for those crimes. I know you no doubt see it cruel, but the man is just and took no joy in enforcing the laws of the land.”

“Back home the last king simply strung up smugglers.”

“Heh then guess I count myself grateful. Shorten a few fingers and in return a rose to nobility, a small price to pay considering.”

“Anyway do you think you can share some of these connections?”

“I could if given the time.” He’d think for a moment. “They have soup kitchens all around Flea Bottom, a few are run by more rough types. Could set up a meet in a day or so.”

Yet as Davos spoke Geralt noticed two odd individuals among the crowds of commoners. For a moment he thought he just mistaken, but there was no one else who had that strange hair tied under the chin style.

“Rodrik?” Geralt muttered as he watched the Master-At-Arms glance about before guiding a dark cloaked woman through the crowd.

“Who?” Davos said curiously as he glanced back for a moment, yet when he looked to Geralt the Witcher was gone. The trader glanced about quickly before seeing the white hair man hurrying through the crowd.

Already Rodrik and the cloaked Catelyn were heading for a side alley westward. It seemed to two were taking a more discreet route through the city with less of a guard presence. How they had slipped by the guards at the gate is what confused him though. He’d have to question them on that matter later on. The two were quick in trying to slip away through the maze of alleys, maybe knowing they were being followed or just trying to take the most confusing route possible.

He’d hear their footsteps suddenly turn into a run, making him hurry after and around the last corner they had made. Suddenly he was face to face with a dirty middle-aged man who had a surprised look on his face as he stared into those cat-like eyes.

“Oi!? What the hell are you?!” He started before a large fellows lurking off to the side stepped into view. “What’s that?”

“Man got cat eyes! No wonder those our two were in a hurry.” The slim man answered back before Geralt moved to get around him. “Hey hey hey! This is OUR alley. If you be passing you pay the toll.”

“No. Move aside.” Geralt coldly stated.

The man must have been daft as he’d smirk despite Geralt’s dead serious stare. “Really? You don’t understand you-” He’d move to draw for a dagger at his belt but Geralt didn’t even give him a chance. Before the ‘toll man’ could react the Witcher grasped him by the back of the head and slammed him face first against the nearby wall. There was the crunch of a nose being broken and a quite thick splatter of blood left where the man’s face had met hard stone. The fat man standing nearby was gawking, looking down at his friend who was out cold with his nose twisted in a painful way and oozing blood. Even his open mouth seemed to be missing a tooth or two.

“F-Fred…you fucker why you-” The man stammered before suddenly having the Witcher’s hand wave before his face, fingers set in the Axii sign.  
“Your friend tripped quite badly. He need that nose fixed.” Geralt said, the Axii sign making the other thug give a dazed look as the spell influenced his weak mind.

“Right. Fred tripped…badly.” He repeated, giving the Witcher the chance to move along. His pace quickened as he tried to catch up with Catelyn and Rodrik, not letting anyone or anything slow him. After a moment, he’d head rattling of a door which made him slow his pace to peak around the corner. Rodrik was at a door which seemed to lead farther westward, no doubt this being a checkpoint used in case of invasion or siege.

“It’s stuck fast my lady. Perhaps we should double back and…” Rodrik started.

“Rather not risk hurrying by those ruffians again.” Catelyn said in a hush voice.

“I can handle them easily.” The master-at-arm’s patted the pommel of his sheathed sword, yet Catelyn shook her head.

“No fighting or distractions. We have to-” However at this point she’d just hear Geralt step closer to him. Rodrik glanced up, a look of surprise showing on his face when he recognized him. Yet before he could say anything Catelyn was quick to lash out suddenly.

It was a clumsy and blind attack, the gleam of Valyian steel shined before him as the woman slashed that fine dagger at him. However he’d simply grab her wrist, stopping her before the weapon even got close to him. A shocked gasp escaped from the woman before she glanced right at his face, fear showing in her eyes for a moment before she realized who it was.

“G-Geralt?” She remarked, the calm cold look he gave drawing worry from her.

“Lady Stark.” He muttered before his hand shifted as he’d easily pull the dagger from her loose grasp, considering her hands were quite bandaged from the dagger he now held. For a moment he examined the curved dagger curiously before glancing back at her. “A bit unwise to lash out like that.”

“I…you took me by surprise. Besides I didn’t expect you to…”

“Be here? Indeed this is quite the chance encounter.” He interrupted. “Which is why you will be coming with me now.”

“That won’t be needed Geralt I have-”

“It wasn’t a request Lady Stark but an order. You have a lot of explaining to do, both to me and your husband.” He calmly stated as he sheathed the dagger, his calm yet serious glaze locking with her’s as she seemed to desperately find the right words to argue back. For a moment Geralt couldn’t help but feel a bit of amusement at having the noblewoman for once at a loss for words.

**…**


	16. Season 1 Episode 15: Shadows of King's Landing - Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Having captured Catelyn Stark, Geralt gains more clues towards his investigation along with the vagabond assassin's Valyrian steel dagger. Geralt also begins to train the young Arya on how to fight, yet is also tested by the renown duelist Syrio Forel. With the the tournament in honor of Eddard's appointment as the King's Hand, the Witcher prepares for the challenges ahead while getting closer to the truth to the web of conspiracies surrounding him. However a sudden visitor to the tournament threatens to complicate the politic intrigue within King's Landing even further.

**Season 1 Episode 15: Shadows of King’s Landing – Part 3**  
**…**  
Lady Catelyn shifted in her seat, nervously fiddling her hands about on her lap while focusing her gaze to the large open window in Littlefinger’s office. Her gaze shifted to Sir Rodrik who pacing around the room, the old experienced master-at-arms seeming restless after leaving Flea Bottom. Yet what had the noblewoman nervous was Geralt himself who was leaned back by the wall near the door, his calm yellow eyes staring at her unblinking.

“It isn’t needed for you to guard me Geralt. Rodrik is more than capable while we wait for my husband.”

Geralt didn’t answer, staying silent which was unnerving for the woman.

“I don’t understand this treatment. I am thankful Lord Petyr has taken us under his protection…even if I wish we did not have to stay at a brothel.”

The Witcher still said nothing. Again Catelyn shifted in her seat uncomfortably.

“My reasons for coming here were just. Ned needed to be warned and shown proof that the Lannister’s are behind it all. Jon Aryan’s death, Bran’s fall and the attempt on his life. I know the Lannisters are behind it!”

“Yet are you willing to bet the lives of your family on that?” Geralt finally answered back, voice calm and serious. “I’ll admit the Lannister’s are the prime suspects, but we can’t rush in making accusations.” He’d step closer to her, continuing to speak. “If you were so concerned, why not send extra men from the North with the dagger in hand.”

“I had to be certain it was delivered and Ned warned!” She quickly answered back.

“Despite the risk of being noticed? If you were spotted you could have tipped off the conspirators who would no doubt plan to counter us or be fearful enough to take more aggressive actions be it towards you, your husband or daughters.”

Catelyn was silent for a moment, a troubled look on her face. “I thought it was the best choice.”

Before anyone could say anything else, there’d be a sudden yell and grunt outside along with a hushed angry voice. “You’re a funny man you know that?!”

Catelyn and Geralt both recognized that voice, yet before the Witcher could react the woman was already at the open window. She’d lean out, giving a small gasp before speaking out. “Ned!”

Geralt was close behind her, looking out to see Lord Stark with one hand around Littlefinger’s throat, the man struggling and gasping for breath. The instant Ned saw his wife, the fierce look on his face was gone. The iron grip on Lord Baelish’s throat quickly let go as the man hurried into the brothel, Littlefinger following close behind after catching his breath. Geralt however did just catch a few words the man muttered.

“…quick tempers and slow minds…” Petyr muttered, a small smirk of amusement just on his lips.

It didn’t take long for the two to arrive at the study, Ned rushing in and gazing at Catelyn. For a moment the two stared at each other before hurrying to embrace, sharing a short kiss. They whispered to each other which Geralt try not to pry on, knowing it be rude to do so. When Littlefinger at last entered, the two would shift away, remaining close beside each other as they’d faced the Master of Coin.

“As you can see, she is here as I promised.” Baelish remarked. “If anything you should thank Geralt for finding her.”

Ned glanced at the Witcher, giving a short grateful nod before guiding his wife to the nearby chair once more. “We have a lot to talk about Cat.” He said as he’d stand before her.

“I know…” She sighed, seeming calmer now that her husband was with her.

Geralt stepped up, his serious look softening slightly. “Guess we should start with the attack that happened back in Winterfell. Was there anything special about the man who attacked you?”

She’d nod. “It was late at night. Robb and I were with Bran who was still asleep from his fall. The fire bell was rung as one of the yard stables was suddenly ablaze. Robb hurried out to help and lead the men, while I stayed with Bran.” She’d take a steady breath. “Then the stranger came in. He was dirty, wearing a hooded outfit. He seemed surprised that I was there said ‘I wasn’t supposed to be here’.”

“Interesting…seems like he wasn’t planning on killing anyone else.” Geralt remarked.

Catelyn continued to speak. “He claimed Bran was already dead and that this was a mercy before he…drew that dagger. I got in his way and we struggled. He tried to kill me yet I…stopped the dagger…” She’d hold up her hands, still bandaged up.

“I’ll need to look at those later. I know Luwin no doubt tended to them, yet the recovery seems to be slow.”

“Thank you Geralt.” She muttered. “In the end the assassin knocked me aside before Summer attacked and killed him. He was inches from Bran and…” She’d take a deep shaky breath while Ned put a reassuring hand on her shoulder, muttering something to her.

At this point Geralt took the time to examine the infamous dagger up close. Indeed it was a fine weapon in deadly quality and artistic design. His attention did shift to Rodrik who had been quiet for most of the day, making him wonder what was on the Master-of-Arms mind. “Something bothering you?”

The old knight sighed and nodded. “Just this whole matter. I understand Catelyn’s drive to find the truth behind Bran’s crippling, yet feel coming here was a mistake.” He muttered. “I tried to dissuade her at first, but she was committed to coming to the capital. While I wished to stay and guard Bran, I couldn’t let Lady Catelyn travel alone.”

Geralt knew that Rodrik understood the issues this journey meant, along with how it conflicted with his sense of duty. “Don’t be hard on yourself. You did well to keep Lady Catelyn safe and hidden during the long trip here.” He assured the knight. “Just be sure to be as dutiful when you’re heading back to Winterfell.”

“Heh…that will be quite the long journey back for sure. However, I do feel it may be a while before we leave the capital. Catelyn hardly slept the whole trip and traveled hard once we were on the road.”

Looking at the woman, the exhausted hints showed more. The dark circles under her eyes and her body shook a bit from stress. It surprised him she had hidden this for the last few hours, only now showing it during a moment of peace. A bit of guilt was felt for being harsh towards her, but he felt being serious with her had made his points clear.

Turning to Ned and Catelyn, he’d move up to the woman. “Let me see your hands.”

She’d nod as she held them out, letting him unwrap the bandages which were quite new. No doubt Rodrik used what basic training he had to ensure her injury was at least tended. Seeing the cut, the skin was still red and gashes still deep even with the stitching Luwin had done over a month ago.

“Nearly cut to the bone no doubt. Valyrian steel can cut through armor with ease…flesh is like butter for it.” He muttered. “Flex your hands. How is your feeling? Any pain or numbness?”

The woman opened and closed her hands, wincing a bit when she tried to close them into fists. “Hurts when I try to do that or grip anything tightly. I can’t feel much at the center of the palms.”

“Must have cut the muscles badly, no doubt from you grabbing the blade. Will take a long time to fully heal, could have some permanent damage even. Won’t know for a few months.”

Catelyn nodded while letting him rewrap the bandages. Ned had a troubled look, a hint of anger showing in his eyes over this news. “Is there any treatments that can help?”

“Constant attention by a Maester would be recommended yet I do have some formula and herbs to make specialized ointments. I’ll have some prepared by tomorrow at the least.”

“Good. We’ll need to find a place for her to stay and rest for a while. It will give us time to plan a quick and discrete way for her and Rodrik to leave the city.

At this point Petyr spoke up. “I’d be glad to accommodate Catelyn for as long as needed. I have more comfortable and secret places for her to stay, away from the prying eyes of the Lannisters.” Pausing, he’d think for a moment. “In fact I have a plan of how to get her out of the city.”

“Interesting. What do you have in mind?” Geralt questioned.

“Was you know, in little over a week the tournament in honor of Ned will be hosted. During that time the city and royal guard will be busy with the event’s security and keeping the common people in line during it.” Littlefinger explained. “The day of the Melee will be the busiest, giving Lady Catelyn the perfect chance to slip out of the city.”

Both Ned and Geralt looked to each other, speaking in low voices. “Would it work?” Eddard questioned.

“The Melee is the most popular event from what the rumors say. Fifty of the land’s most skilled knights and warriors battling it out will draw a large crowd. Besides they no doubt need the extra men to ensure no foul play happens.” Geralt answered back.

Eddard thought for a moment, glancing slightly at Petry who was beside Catelyn, the two sharing a private conversation, the noblewoman having quite the thankful look on her face. “Tell me…do you trust him?”

The question was suddenly, but Geralt could understand why. From the moment Ned and Littlefinger had met there was a quick distrust between them. It was obvious both men loved Catelyn, though she didn’t seem to realize Petyr deeper affection for her. Whatever past the two had seemed to remain to a degree, even if the man had a more romantic longing for the married woman.

“I don’t, but we have few options. You and he may have differences, yet he does care for your wife’s wellbeing. At least take advantage of that.” Geralt whispered back.

Ned sighed and nodded before looking to Petyr. “Very well. I’ll trust you with taking care of Catelyn until the last day of the tournament.”

“I will guard her with my life if need be.” Lord Baelish replied with a short nod.

Eddard stepped closer to the lord, a serious look. “You better be willing.” He muttered quite threateningly, making Littlefinger pale slightly while keep that friendly small smile. Ned moved to talk with Catelyn privately for a moment before the two shared a short kiss and embrace. “I’ll try to visit you when chance comes. For now rest and be safe.” With that, he’d move to leave the room, waiting at the doorway for Geralt.

The Witcher gave a respectful nod to Petyr before moving to Catelyn. “Try to rest Lady Stark. Trust me, we’ll find the truth about the Lannisters.” He’d move to follow Eddard out of the study, though noticed the odd look on conflict in Catelyn’s eyes before he left.

The two walked down the street until they were far enough from Littlefinger’s brothel. Turning down a side alley, Geralt glanced around to make sure no one was lurking around. “I have some new leads to follow up.”

“Tell me.”

“Lord Baelish claims the dagger was his.” Geralt drew the weapon, giving Eddard time to examine the fine dagger. “I find it odd he hasn’t requested it back. Maybe he isn’t that attached to it or is trying to keep us in his favor.”

“The man is materialistic to a degree. How did he come to lose it though?”

“Claims he lost it on a bet with Tyrion Lannister during the tourney on Joffrey’s naming day. I don’t buy his story though.”

Ned gave a curious look. “Explain.”

“He said Tyrion betted against his brother. I doubt even he would go against family pride on such a wager.”

“And you’re certain of that?”

“I’ve spent a bit over a month with him, I have a good idea of his personality and character. Still I plan to question him on the matter.”

“Good. Anything else?”

“Varys give me a surprise visit a few days back.”

“Ah…yes…The Master of Whispers. I can say he did the same for me. Shared some very troubling secrets with me about Arryn.”

“He did mentioned your mentor. Claimed everything connected back to him and that we should try tracing back on his last few actions.”

“Aye…and I’ve been doing that.” Jon remarked back. “He was looking to records relating to orphans throughout King’s Landing, those with certain traits and mothers.”

“Let me guess, bastards of Robert’s no doubt.”

“This has been a habit of his for years, even before the Rebellion.” Sighing, Ned rubbed his forehead in a tired manner. “I’m not sure if the Lannister’s know or care for this. Either way Arryn had a keen interest in a few older orphans.”

“I could check up on them. See if I can get any idea of what he was looking for.”

Ned thought for a moment and nodded. “It be fitting. If I went out it would draw attention no doubt.” Thinking for a moment, a small realization came to him. “In fact the last child he visited is close by. A boy named Gendry who lives and works at Tobho Mott’s workshop. Since you no doubt plan to see him with the dagger, you can see the young man as well.”

“Sounds like a good idea. I’ll head over right now.” Geralt moved to leave the alley. “Stay watchful Ned.”

“As do you Geralt.” Eddard muttered as the Witcher left the alley.

**…**

Geralt took the main route back to Great Sept square, yet before he could head southwest for the Street of Steel, a familiar voice called out to him. “Geralt! By the Sevens man you had me worried there!” Glancing about, he’d see it was Davos who hurried through the crowd. “You bolted as if the devil was at your back. What happened?”

“Noticed someone important. Sorry I ran off like that without a warning.”

“Its fine…just don’t do that again.” The Davos chuckled. “Anyway about that meeting you wanted set up...”

“Have had second thoughts on the idea. I found some new information that has changed my investigation quite a bit.” Already Geralt was moving down the long street for the Street of Steel, Davos following along. “Have to pay a visit to a renowned blacksmith to examine this.” He’d pat the sheathed assassin dagger, Davos quickly realizing it was no ordinary weapon.

“Curious. Seen plenty of weapons but that is no common blade.” He remarked. “Ah I forget though…is it alright if I tag along? While is seems like quite the important matter, but I’ll admit I’ve always wished to meet the famed Tobho Mott.”

Geralt thought for a moment and shrugged. “I see no issue with you tagging along. Just expect me to be busy dealing with some private deals with Mott.” He’d lead the way, the sea captain following close along.

Entering the busy Street of Steel, Davos glanced around the man shops and stands with a curious interest. “Never been much of a fighter. Always prefer to do my battles behind the wheel of a ship or through negotiation and trade. Still, can’t help but admire such work.”

“Indeed.”

Soon the two arrived at Mott’s store and already Geralt could see Davos was amazed by the lavish building and it quite grand entrance. “Not sure if this is meant to be a manor or a shop.”

The Witcher opened the way into the store, revealing the many displays of fine and exotic weapons the master smith had made. Already Davos was quick to go around the room, examining all the different weapons and armor with a curious interest. A young clerk would leave from one of the backrooms, noticing the two and recognizing the Witcher first.

“Ah! Ser Geralt. I take you’re here to see Master Mott?” The young man asked.

“You’d be correct. Have a weapon that I want him to examine.”

“Of course. Umm…is the gentlemen there a companion of yours as well?” The clerk asked, pointing to Davos, who glanced over.

“Yes, a new friend of mine. He just wants to tour the place so…thought I could bring him along.”

“That is if it isn’t an issue.” The trader added in a formal manner.

“Heh, it won’t be sir. Please follow me. Master Mott is busy in the forge and tutoring his apprentices.” The clerk nodded to a heavy wooden and iron bound door which he unlocked, leading to back yard area of the store. The true work was done here as there were a mix of forges, anvils and other workstations set around with young workmen busy on orders. All of them were focused on their tasks, hardly looking up at the three as they passed by.

“Quite young fellows.” Davos remarked.

“And lucky. Mott only selects those he deems worthy to serve here at the forges. Most of them worked on the lesser shops along the Street of Steel or within Flea Bottom. You’d be surprised of the talent hidden away in those slums.” The clerk explained. “All who work for him get free board and food as well, however he expects professionalism and dedication to their craft. I’ve seen plenty of aspiring students leave in just a few weeks at a time.”

At the largest forge, Mott could be seen watching a young student, a fit teenager with short black hair pumping the bellows of the forge before shifting a heated piece of metal about within the fiery depths. The master smith was changed into more practical clothes instead of his fine robes, wearing light shirt with a leather apron and pants. “Good…the heat is just right.” He muttered to the student who’d get a set of prongs out and pull the glowing metal out, laying it over the anvil. The student picked a hammer up and began to shape the metal out, flattening and shaping it before heating it again to repeat the process. After a while though Mott realized that he had guests, making him glance over to Geralt and Davos. “Continue on Gendry. Don’t overheat the metal too much else it will lose its shape.”

“Of course sir.” The teenager remarked before returning to his hammering.

Mott approaching Geralt and Davos, a friendly smile on his face as he and the Witcher shook hands. “Surprised to see me in leathers for once?”

“A bit. Guess silken robes don’t work well for soot and smoke.” Geralt chuckled back.

“Jests aside what brings you here so suddenly? I can see you’ve brought a friend…”

Davos gave a short bow. “Davos Seaworth at your service.”

“Seaworth…ah yes the name is familiar. May not know the story of every House in the kingdoms, yet few new ones appear like yours especially from such common upbringings.” Mott remarked. “How is Lord Stannis doing? Haven’t seen him in years.”

“Well enough. Actively expanding the fleet as of late, a claimed precaution to the rumors going on in Essos. Besides that he is…well…having issues of faith but that is a personal matter.”

The last bit was curious to Geralt but he didn’t pry onto it. Religion was usually the last subject on his mind. “Introductions aside I do have something to show you.” He’d tug the assassin dagger out, Mott eyes widening seeing the weapon.

“Yes…interesting.” Looking to Davos, he gave a small nod to him. “Geralt and I must talk privately. You’re free to watch my students and see the forges. Just don’t touch anything or disrupt the boys work.”

“Of course.”

Mott gestured for Geralt to follow him back into the shop and then into his study. With the door locked up, the master smith was quick to move to a table with a large tome set on it. Moving closer, the Witcher read the title of the book. “Blades of Lords: Chronicle of Valyrian Weapons.” He remarked.

“A quite limited book. I doubt only a few Keeps and the Maesters of Old Town have other copies.” He’d flip through the book, pages after pages having illustrations of valyrian steel weapons and the long histories many had. “Many of these weapons predate to the Valyrian Empire. Some have been reforged in the early days of the Seven Kingdoms when the knowledge was not as limited.” They’d reach one page that detailed Ice, describing how the weapon was given to the family a hundred years before the Doom destroyed the Valyrian Empire. It was an old blade indeed considering it had recently reached its fourth century since being forged.

“So what about this dagger? What’s its story?”  
Mott flipped through the pages, passing through many interesting sections until at last he stopped at page with a drawing of the curved ornate dagger. “Interesting…the weapon has gone through many renaming yet is often called the Dragon Fang. What many interest you the most was it came as a pair, as twin daggers.”

“Twin daggers? That is curious.”

“Indeed. The weapons predate to the Valyrian Empire from what this details. Such daggers were said to be commonplace, often a side arm or a show of office. Of course times change. The book says the daggers were often named after the greatest dragon of the time, but that is of little importance.” The man scanned the page. “Let’s see…owned by that House then lost…then resold…stolen then rediscovered…AH! The last dagger was recorded of being gifted to House Baelish of the Fingers a few generations back. It mentions only one dagger though, so I guess the other was lost over the centuries.”

“Guess this confirms Lord Petyr’s story of owning it. Course book will need an update on its ownership and history.”

“Heh, doubt we will see a new edition over such a minor weapon. I can say this thing has passed hands more times than most and has quite the grim history of assassinations and murders.”

“Often that is the only fame a dagger gets.”

“I find it odd they didn’t try reforging the weapons. Its steel be far more worthwhile as a short sword if done correctly.”

Geralt had an odd idea come to mind. “It there even enough metal to do so? It’s a large dagger but…I know reforging often loses some of its mass.”

For a moment Mott was silent, glancing away for a moment before speaking. “It is possible. Admittedly the blueprints and materials you brought have given me new theories on Valyrian steel. No concrete proof on making more steel, but perhaps given time…” He was silent, seeming unsure. “If I did reforge the dagger and mix it with compounded mix of meteorite ore and…Yes it could work.”

“Mott what are you muttering about?”

“An idea. It’s a crazy one yet one that tempts me.” Sighing he’d shake his head. “As appealing as my theory is, I know this weapon is a piece of evidence in your investigation.” He’d hand the dagger back to Geralt who seemed to stare thoughtfully at the curved weapon.

“You’ll have to tell me one day. If anything it has me curious.” Geralt remarked.

“Heh. One day yes. I need time to think it over…since one mistake will be costly.” He’d close the book and sigh. “Daggers and history aside I have made progress on your armor improvements.” Gesturing to small drafting desk, he’d point out some sheets of paper which Geralt began shifting through. “What do you think?”

For a while Geralt’s yellow eyes scanned the pages, impressed at the detail added the design, even calculating the weight. “Different from what I usual wear but effective.” Pausing, he’d glance back at Mott. “How long would you need?”

“Just a week. These improvements have to be carefully done considering the armor’s special design. It should be ready before the tournament if that is what you’re worried about.”

“Good. I’ll have it brought in by tomorrow morning and you can begin working on it.” Stacking the design papers together, he’d step away from the desk. “Anyway there is one last matter. I’d like to speak to a student of yours, Gendry, the young man you were with earlier.”

“Why is that?” Mott’s eyes hinted a bit of worry in it for a moment.

“It’s about my investigation. I’m following up on what Jon Arryn was doing before he died.”

Mott was silent, a serious look hinting his face. “Geralt. You are a good friend but…I ask you not to pry on this matter.”

“Why? Because Gendry is most likely one of King Robert’s bastard, maybe his oldest?”

The smith glanced aside nervously. “The boy knows nothing of that.”

“And I know that. Not trying to present him as the true heir to the Iron Throne or hurt him because of his bloodline. If anything he is better off here in your care. I don’t give a damn about succession politics, only finding out why the late Hand had such an interest in him.”

“Jon Arryn was…confirming if Gendry had traits of his father. He didn’t talk much to the boy, only simple questions of his upbringing in Flea Bottom and how he came under my service. An unknown patron paid for his apprenticeship after his mother passed away, with detailed instructions to watch him closely. Overall the boy has been a natural working the forges and his proven his worth as a student.”

Already Geralt had some ideas on who may have paid for the boy’s care. Perhaps Robert had learned of the woman’s passing and in turn Gendry’s orphaned state. Maybe the boy had drawn guilt from the man and in turn led to him trying to discretely support Gendry. “Interesting…still do you mind if I talk to him for a moment? Just short questions.”

Mott sighed, seeming tense on the subject yet nodded. “Fine. But no mentions of the Baratheons or The King!” He warned before leading Geralt out of his study and back outside. Davos seemed to have remained by Gendry’s work station, casually chatting with the teenager who had gotten the blade forged and was now getting the blade wrapped up in insulating cloth for the annealing process. As the two neared Davos could just be overheard.

“Very nice. I can see why Master Mott praises you.” Davos complimented, making a small smile cross the boy’s face.

“Thank you my lord. I am hoping I’ll be able to start my own forge…” His gaze drifted to a bull shaped helm. “I have artistic talent, though Master Mott says I just need to perfect the forging process.” When he noticed Geralt and his master nearing, he’d quickly focus back on his work, getting the blade wrapped up and then laid out.

Davos noticed too, giving a small smile. “Ah I didn’t bother the boy much sir. He was just finished up.”

“No worries both of you.” Mott assured them. “Good work though Gendry. We’ll sharpen and treat the blade tomorrow.” Looking to Geralt, he’d continue to speak. “However Geralt here wishes to speak with you. Has a few questions to ask.”

The boy looked to Geralt, a nervous hint showing when he saw those yellow cat eyes and scarred face. “I…Of course sir.”

Mott nodded before turning to leave, Davos following along. “I’ll wait in the shop for you Geralt.” Soon the trader and smith were beginning a friendly chat, leaving the Witcher with the young smith.

Geralt strolled into the workshop, glancing over a few tools and armor still needing to be finished. “So you’ve been living here for a while?”

Gendry nodded. “For over half my life when mother died…so…back when I was six.”

The boy looked a few years older considering, yet no doubt the hard work had bulked him up more than most. “Never knew your father?”

Gendry shrugged. “Mother never said much about him. Claimed he was a famous warrior from the Rebellion. That was ages ago yet…remember how she looked. Sad, angry yet longing.”

Geralt was silently for a moment, wondering just how tough life must have been for the woman. “Never wanted to find out about him?”

“No.” Gendry muttered, glancing away a bit. “Sorry sir Geralt just…I’d rather not talk of it.”

“Fair enough. Sorry to pry on it.”

Gendry nodded, seeming to relax now. “Anything else?”

“Yes. A few month back did a nobleman come in for a visit? Older fellow who personally asked to speak to you?”

A hint of curiosity showed in the boy’s eyes. “Yes. He was asking pretty much the same questions as you. Why does that matter?”

“It’s private. Sorry…”

“Ah of course. Not a matter for an apprentice to know.” The boy muttered dismissively.

“Heh from what I can tell you have the makings of a master about you.” Geralt remarked. “Trust me, don’t worry yourself about such things. Focus on your work and own ambitions.”

The simple yet inspiring words had Gendry nod. “A fair point…I’ll keep that in mind ser.”

“Then take care Gendry.” He’d turn to leave, the boy having a thoughtful look on his face before he’d focus on cleaning up the workshop for the day.

**…**

Geralt said goodbye to Mott before he and Davos left his shop. “Well I can say that was an interesting visit. Another tale to tell my sons back home.” The trader chuckled. “Mott mentioned you’ll be at the tourney coming soon. Maybe I’ll pay and visit, bet a bit on you since he seemed confident in ya.”

“Heh now you’re sounding like Tyrion. Still I wouldn’t mind another friend in the stands.”

The two soon reached the Great Sept plaza, ready to go their separate ways now. “Well, time I go back to my ship. Have a few more shipments to get loaded up before heading to Dragonstone then back again for all that leather.” He remarked.

“Honest work I say. You take care Davos.”

“As do you Geralt. Farewell.”

Shaking hands, Davos turned to head down the street leading to the Fishmonger Plaza and for the Blackwater Harbor. Geralt moved to the northeast for the Red Keep, having no trouble along the way or getting inside the hold. When he reached his room though there was a notice on his door.

Geralt, could you please come to the west balcony hall midday tomorrow? I’d like you to meet my new dancing teacher Syrio. He says he knows you and wants you to see the Water Dance.  
Arya

“Huh…dancing teacher?” It took a moment to realize what she meant, making him chuckle as he’d take the note off his door. Heading into his room, he’d toss the notice into the fireplace to burn it up before packing away his steel sword and leather clothing, changing into light clothing for the night. “Guess I should check up. Did promise to train her.” Crawling into bed, he’d sigh as he’d drift asleep after the busy day he had been through.

**…**

Having slept into the late morning, Geralt would get ready for his quick visit back to Mott to deliver his armor. Once changed into his day clothes, he’d gather his Wolf School armor and take the long walk to Mott’s shop, getting the armor checked in for the smith. By the time he had all that sorted out and back at the Red Keep, it would already be early midday. All it took was a few questions to find the way to the west hall, a small open hall that had a fine view of the city. Arriving there, he’d heard the clack of wooden swords and shuffling feet, along with Syrio speaking out.

“Keep your footing. Never be still during an attack or being on the defensive!”

Entering the hall, Geralt hanged back to see the First Sword of Bravos at work, the man shifting and stepping about while Arya did her best to match his movements. The two were in the middle of a sparring duel, Arya matching Syrio’s foot work quite well yet not flowing with her stabs and strikes like the experienced man. In the end she overextended a strike and the fencer slipped up close, the blunt end of his practice sword pressed at her neck.

“And now your dead again.” He chuckled, Arya giving a small sigh before she’d notice the Witcher.

“Geralt! You got my letter!” She’d hurry over, giving him a sudden hug which caught him off guard. Again he had memories of Ciri doing the same when she was young, making a mix of feelings come to mind.

“Heh didn’t think you missed me that much.” He remarked once the girl let him go.

“Well you and father have been so busy. Sansa is dull…just talking about that stupid Joffrey and that witch of a queen.”

The news of Sansa being around Cersei was interesting news. Thinking about it, he remembered how the girl had been in a hurry last he chatted with her, perhaps going off to meet the woman. “Well I’m here now.” His gaze looked to Syrio’s who had a friendly grin on his face.

“Pleasure to see you again Geralt. Did you teach the girl beforehand? It seems she has a basics when it comes to the Dance.”

“More of offhanded learning. She always watched how I trained the soldiers and her brothers back in Winterfell.”

“That right! He dueled Robb, Jon and Theon all at once. None of them could even touch him.”

“Hmm…I see.” The fencer paced around slightly as Geralt walked more into the center of the hall. “I’d like to see for myself though.” Kicking up Arya’s dropped practice sword, he’d catch it with one hand before throwing it to Geralt. The Witcher didn’t even flinch as he catch the weapon by the grip, spinning it about in his grasp. A grin crossed Syrio’s lips. “Impressive. Very honed reflexes.” The man’s stance shifted to be side facing, one hand back at his hip and his sword arm out forward, holding the practice sword in a classic fencing style.

Geralt shifted his stance, sword arm back and left hand forward to the side as he took a sideward stance as well. His footing was light as he stared down at the fencer who had a curious look in his eyes.

“Never seen such a stance.” He remarked as he’d slowly pace about, circling the Witcher who’d move counter wise, keeping his distance and facing towards the man.

“Called the Fiery Dancer. Meant for more agile opponents.” The Witcher explained. “Amusing how it’s similar in name to your own style.”

“Heh indeed!” Syrio’s tensed, his friendly grin fading and a serious glare showed in his eyes. “Watch closely child. It is rare you see masters put their art to the test!” Arya nodded as she stood a good distance back, an excited look in her eyes as the two men locked gazes.

Soon their side shuffle ended as Syrio’s lunged, moving quickly forward for a stab. Geralt was quicker, body turning about, sword arm twisting as he blocked a slash to his side. Both of them kept moving as Syrio’s pressed the offense while Geralt focused on dodging or guarding in return. At times the Witcher got enough distance to attack back, going in for a quick stab which the fencer blocked only to flow into an upward slash and then a downward. The fencer was on guard now, realizing Geralt’s blows had more strength then expected to such rapid attacks.

“Interesting. You steps flow like the Water Dance yet blows have such strength to it. An interesting combination.” Syrio’s remarked.

“Not getting nervous, are you?”

“No…if anything I’m thrilled for a challenge!” Again he stepped forward, stringing a series of quick high and low blows which Geralt blocked or evaded. For a good while the two were caught up attacking and counter attacking, avoiding falling into an outright defensive. With them fighting up close, it meant one slip up would leave to a jab to the gut or a smack to the side, yet neither let their guard down for such blows. Geralt’s decades of experience and mutant reflex just surpassed the fencer. However even the Witcher’s exotic style couldn’t get through Syrio’s defenses because of his agile step and quick sword work.

Both lost track of time, yet Geralt could see Syrio’s slowing, getting tired as he was putting so much effort to just protect himself from the Witcher. At this point the Witcher put forward a more aggressive move, stepping forward as Syrio’s have a lightening with stab right at him. Quickly he’d turn and spin about, using the momentum to switch his practice sword into his left hand. By the time Syrio reacted to turn about for a guard to the right, he’d just realize his mistake as Geralt’s blade was just at his ribs. If it had been a real blade, the weapon would have sunk right up into the man’s heart.

“Dead.” Geralt muttered, giving a deep sigh as he’d catch his breath.

Syrio was panting, light sweat on his brow and a surprised look in his eyes. “Amazing indeed…a cunning deception.” He chuckled as Geralt shifted back. Both glanced to Arya who stood there gawking, seeming at a loss for words.

“I…how…I couldn’t even keep track.” She murmured in pure awe.

“Heh that is how a duel is properly done. The final test for mastering the Water Dance is to move across a shallow pool. If one can fight across the surface without rippling it, then it is a true show of mastery.” He’d give a small bow to Geralt. “I can say this man has been the first to best me since I’ve gained my title. A compliment that I doubt I’ll ever share again.”

“You humble me. If anything you’ve given me quite the challenge for once.” Geralt remarked back respectfully, one hand out to be shaken.

Syrio chuckled, shaking Geralt’s hand firmly. “We must do a rematch one day. For now though we have Arya’s lesson to tend to.” Looking to the girl, he’d toss his practice sword to her, which she caught was ease. “I think Geralt here can help with your sword arm while I your footwork. Hone both and in turn balance yourself.”

“I get the idea.” Arya agreed. “Just not sure I’ll fight like you two though.”

“Never said never.” Geralt chuckled. “Trust me, you’ll find your own style in the end. Everyone does.”

“A good advice I say. Now then I need a moment to catch my breath. Why not show Geralt what you have learned so far.”

The girl nodded as she’d step up, taking a similar stance as the fencer while Geralt shifted into his own poise. She’d start off with a lunge much like Syrio’s which Geralt blocked aside with ease, yet let Arya continue into a flow of slashes and attacks. She was overly aggressive in her moves, swinging to widely or over extending herself whenever she stabbed out. Whenever she did, he’d be quick to attack at her outstretched arm or her exposed side, making Arya give a yelp whenever the practice sword tapped against her own weapon.

“Have you sword arm move with you. Be it defense or offense you mustn’t simply leave your arm exposed.” He explained to her.

Arya nodded as the two kept up their sparring lesson while Syrio stood by, a pleased look on his face as he observed how Geralt taught her. The Witcher took the time to show her the proper steps for different attacks and blocks, taking his time as he’d correct her on how she held her weapon and angled her strikes. Once again they’d do another sparring match, Geralt testing her defenses this time, which she pulled off quite well. Yet as they fought, he’d notice by the entrance way that Ned was standing by, muttering something to Syrio’s. For a moment Eddard had a proud look in his eyes as he watched Arya block and counter attack, yet as the fight continued on a hint of worry then fear showed in the man’s expression, as if dreading the possible danger that may one day threaten the young girl.

**…**

The next few days Geralt took his time to begin researching his opponents for the upcoming tournament. The first rule of every Witcher was to understand his enemy, problem was he was facing up against forty nine highly skilled knights. Despite how humans lacked the natural deadliness of monsters, they were always adaptive and unpredictable.

Sandor for one was one he had to keep an eye on, considering the man wouldn’t be holding back against him and already had a good understanding of the Witcher’s capabilities. Then there was the Mountain, Gregor Clegane. The man thrived off battle and brutality, using his brute strength over skill. Still the man seemed to have a cruel cunning from what the stories said, showing Geralt shouldn’t underestimate him. Jaime’s overall seemed to be well-balanced in all form from what he learned. Yet he felt in this event the royal knight was going to take this tourney quite seriously for once.

Geralt’s attention did focus on one certain fighter, an odd addition who wasn’t even from any House. Thoros of Myr, a Red Priest from Essos, renown for being a usual drinking buddy with King Robert. It seemed odd for a priest to have such a habit, although his faith was very different from most Geralt had heard of. Religion aside, the man was a fierce fighter, having taken part in facing the Ironborn during the Greyjoy Rebellion that happened years back. One trait he often had was lighting his sword with wildfire, a violate alchemy oil that reminded Geralt of some of his own oil and bomb mixtures. Overall the man was a wild card and one he’d have to look out for.

With his research aside, Geralt decided it was time to confront Tyrion with some questioning to learn the full truth about the assassin dagger. With taking the weapon in secret, Geralt headed for Tryion’s quarters, yet when passing through the main hall run into the dwarf along with Bronn following along. The dwarf gave a small smile seeing the Witcher before approaching. “Ah Geralt! Been far too long since we spoke. I hope your time at the Keep and seeing the city has gone well.”

Geralt nodded. “Peaceful enough. I take you’ve been busy with the tournament?”

“Mostly. Food and drink has to be ordered along with the entertainment organized. While Littlefinger may procure the coin, I’ve been appointed for the management of the tournament and as one of its announcer to give the event more flair.” He answered back as the two headed outside to the main courtyard.

“Not sure if I should be excited or dreading how you’ll act before the crowd.”

“Oh ye of little faith.” The dwarf sighed.

“Has a point Tyrion.” Bronn added. “May very well stroll out onto half drunk and dressed.”

Tyrion rolled his eyes as his two friends jested with him. “Just so you know I am trying to take this tournament seriously. Maybe the last one we have in long while if Lord Stark takes serious management on the spending.”

“Funny I thought you’d be happy with your family pulling the strings with capital in debt.”

“As much as domination of the Kingdoms sound, I do look to the long term. After all a good amount of that debt remains to the Iron Bank and if payments are not meant…well…they’re methods on collecting are not welcoming.”

Geralt thought a bit, remembering the Iron Bank from Bravos, being richest organization in the known world. In turn they controlled one of the most powerful mercenary armies as well, the Golden Company who were as Tyrion said their ‘debt collectors’. “Seems odd to worry about such a matter.”

“That’s what separates me from the rest of my family…well except my father. He’d say otherwise yet if you met him, you’d agree that we’re more alike than my siblings.”

“Debts and family aside, there is one important mater I need to talk to you about.”

Tyrion had a questioning look before giving a short nod. “Very well…Bronn, go enjoy yourself for the evening. I’ll see you at the usual place.” Taking out a small coin pouch, he’d hand it over to the sellsword who gave an approving grin.

“As you wish. Watch him well Geralt.” Bronn chuckled as he headed for the gates out to the city.

Once he had strolled off Tyrion gestured to the side path that lead around the main keep and to the vast gardens. Walking along for a while, Tyrion lead the Witcher to a secluded sitting area set by a fenced cliff side, ensuring no one could spy on them easily.

“So then. What is it?”

Geralt simply drew out the assassin dagger, the curved blade gleaming in the bright sunlight overhead. Tyrion flinched a bit at the sight of the weapon, a quick realization showing in his eyes. “That’s the assassin’s blade isn’t it?” Holding one hand out, Geralt handed it over for the dwarf to examine. “Valyrian and dragon bone. Not sure why a vagrant killer would use such a thing…could have sold this for a fortune.”

“You don’t recognize it?”

“I study my weapons from time to time, especially Valyrian weapons. However I don’t know about this one.” Glancing up, he had a questioning look in his eyes. “Why do you ask?”

“That dagger use to belong to Lord Baelish who claims he lost it in a bet with you.” Geralt answered back. “On Joffrey’s naming day tourney, he says you and him had a bet with the dagger being his offer. He said you betted against your brother who lost the last joust, leading to you winning the blade.”

Tyrion was silent, a small grin showing across his face. “Heh…so it seems Petyr lied then. You know that I wouldn’t-”

“Bet against your own brother? Yah I know. Been around you long enough to be certain on that fact, even told Baelish that.” Pausing, he’d give a sigh. “So then…do you have any idea why he would lie to me?”

“Because he’s trying to protect Robert no doubt.” Tyrion muttered. “Thinking back I remember he had a wager with the King and it was no doubt that weapon. Robert is always interested by such items and no doubt put down a lot of gold towards the bet.”

“So you mean Petyr lied to me to avoid linking the King with the assassin’s dagger?”

“I’m not implying Robert is behind the assassination on Bran. The man isn’t cruel enough to wish the boy harm or stupid enough to use such a weapon. If anything the dagger may have been gifted to someone among the court or royal family. Who though I cannot say.”

“Yet Robert would know…” Geralt calmly stated.

“Yes…but maybe accusing him of providing a murder weapon isn’t an appropriate approach. His temperament is bad enough, with you I doubt he’ll keep himself restrained from such an accusation.” Tyrion sighed and thought for a moment. “You need to win some favor back with him and putting on a good show in the tournament will no doubt do so.”

“Ah yes…the classic fight for fame method.” Geralt remarked in dry sarcasm.

“The man is simple in the end. Show him your fighting skill and honorable manners. May very win the attention of the noble born by the end.”

“Never had a good track record winning such attention, but I’ll take you word on that.”

Tyron gave a small grin. “I’ve gotten you this far haven’t I?” His expression though did turn more serious. “Still you should question Lord Baelish about his lie, learn his reasons for doing so.”

“Oh I plan to…” Geralt muttered as he’d take the dagger back from the dwarf. “Already have a good idea on when to talk to him and I’ll certainly get an answer.”

The way the Witcher spoke had Tyrion nervous a bit. “Just don’t cripple him.”

Geralt simply shrugged. “So any other details about the tournament I should know about? Special rules or events?”

“Well…for the archery event a ideas has come to mind, something that will amazing the masses. After all you can do something, I doubt anyone in the known world can…well…maybe in Dorn or somewhere in Essos…but we don’t have the coin or time hiring such talent.”

It wasn’t hard to figure out what the dwarf was meaning, considering Geralt had put his honed deflection technique to use in saving his life. “So…block a few arrows to wow the crowds? I don’t mind being part of completions but being a sideshow is something I don’t enjoy.”

“My, they really must treat you like dirt back in your country if you that reluctant.” Tyrion muttered. “You do know everyone here see’s you differently. You’re a mystery to many! The stranger with unmatched skill, unshakeable will and strong sense of justice.”

Geralt’s thoughts drifted back to the night weeks ago, of how Gaunter had claimed he was the ‘hero’ this world needed. “Fine…guess there can’t be much harm in your request.” He sighed. “Anything else?”

“Hmm…yes. Your introduction.”

“Introduction?”

“You know. The reading of titles and great deeds. Geralt of Rivia is good start, but surely you have other grand titles.”

Already the Witcher doubted the dwarf needed to know of his more infamous title as ‘Butcher of Blaviken’, even if it was falsely given. “Gwynbleidd is a title I was given the elves.”

“Are you saying fair ageless beings with pointed ears gave you a title?” The dwarf chuckled in a jesting manner, though seeing the Witcher’s dead serious look had him become silent. “Ah…won’t question further on that matter. So Gwyn-blade…Gwybleidd…what does it mean?”

“It’s Elder Speech for White Wolf. Think of it as the ancient tongue from where I come from.”

“Interesting…anything else?”

“Nothing else comes to mind.” Geralt muttered with a shrug.

Tyrion thought for a moment, pacing about slowly. “What about the Wildling Slayer? Hmm…no…too violent in tone. Wildling Hunter? Maybe…”

“Rather not glorify that. Not like I actively seek out and kill them.” Geralt argued.

“Fine. How about Defender of the North then? Far more neutral and heroic.”

“That will do. Anything else you need to ask?”

Again the dwarf was silent, thinking once more before remembering something. “Yes one small detail. A bit personal yet one that I feel is needed…”

Already Geralt had a strange feeling before he’d sigh and give a nod of agreement before hearing Tyrion’s request.

**…**

The last few days quickly went by for Geralt, focusing on training Arya with Syrio’s while also preparing himself for the upcoming games. Mott had sent a message saying the armor was finished and he would arrive with it at the tournament grounds. While he believed in the master smith’s skills, he couldn’t help but feel a bit nervous having his gear brought in at the last minute. The Melee wasn’t until the second day after joust and archery contest. It made sense to put the mass battle for one day since it take that long just to sort through so many combatants. At the least he’d have the advantage of not being tired out or injured unlike the ones taking part in the joust.

When the dawn of the tournament came, Geralt made sure to get up early before the rest of the Keep was up and about. He’d rather no tag along with the royal march through the city streets like last time, not wanting too much attention drawn onto himself. Grabbing his swords and locking away all his other belongings, he’d head out for the court yard and the stables to get Roach. No one stopped him from leaving as he rode quickly out into the street of King’s Landing heading for the south western gate, the Lion Gate as it was named for it’s in honor for the Lannisters. He found that odd considering Tywin had sacked the city, leading to a lot of suffering for the commoners who were caught in the chaos.

Leaving the city walls, he’d turn southward through hilly woodland, following a wide trail that ended at a massive clearing. Already a small sea of colorful tents were set up, gathered pages and servants hurrying about getting everything in order. There was one massive stand meant for the nobility and smaller moveable stands set around for the commoners who had come to watch. Currently the jousting lane was set up with practice targets for the early arrived knights to ride against. Already a few of the men were about, charging and hitting the shielded targets, though Geralt paid little attention on them for now.

Soon he arrived at his tent, a light blue and white colored one, which Tyrion had set up for him. The inside was simple since he didn’t require much for the tournament, not needing a small armory of weapons like most knights often brought with them. The only furniture here being a simple yet comfortable cot bed, a sturdy chest for storage and a large table with a few chairs for relaxing. Yet at the table was Mott, who had quite the tired look on his face, seeming almost half asleep with the way he was slumped forward. The table had a piece of cloth covering over it, no doubt Geralt’s improved armor. Hearing Geralt, the master smith shifted up to look at the Witcher, giving a small chuckle and smile.

“When you said early, I didn’t think you meant this early.”

Geralt smirked as he approached the table, taking a seat across from the man. “You didn’t have to. Could have come later.”

“Bah…may not be a morning person but I felt this is a special occasion.” Mott muttered, shifting up to stand from his seat. “Never worked so hard on an order like this. The time limit did put some pressure, though this is truly a masterpiece.”

Pulling the cloth off, the Witcher armor was fully revealed. His eyes widened as he looked over the enhanced armor, quickly noting the changes given to it. The chest piece had been reinforced with dark iron plating along the shoulders, upper front and the collar area. More flexible plate was added to the upper arms for added protection while at the elbows the only forearm area metal bracers had been pieced into the chain and leather, with the left bracer being the Stark one he had been gifted. The gambeson armor under the fitting jacket had been toughed with a well spread pattern of studded fittings yet did not feel one bit heavier or inflexible under his inspection. The pants also had flexible plating on the sides of the leggings with leather strappings securing it to the toughed clothing. As for the boots they hadn’t been changed too much though he’d feel the metal pieces added to the toe and heel, ensuring any kicks or stomps would have quite the impact.

“Very impressive. The plating is well mixed with the leather and chain work.” Geralt remarked.

“Thank you. Why not try it on, get a feel for it. I can promise you none of the plating will hamper your flexibility or movement.”

The Witcher was quick to slip the armor on, doing a short stretch and flex once everything was fitted. He’d move his arms about, testing his reach front and back before doing the same with his legs. “Damn. Doesn’t feel any different. How did you keep the weight the same?”

“Heh a new trade secret Geralt. Be glad you’re the rest to wear such fine hybrid armor. In time I plan to make more with the designs you shared, make a simpler and affordable outfit before the next gathering of smiths.”

“Guess that is my way of paying back.” Geralt chuckled. “Anyway think I should head out and practice a bit with the new armor.” Moving to leave the tent, he did stop at exit. “So do you plan to stay and watch the events?”

Mott thought for a moment and shrugged. “I plan to see the Melee at the least, having put a few bets down on you.” Smirking, the man nodded. “Overall just do what you do best Witcher. I want to see a few of those stuck up knight meet a real match for once.”

The Witcher chuckled in amusement. “You’ll see soon enough.” Leaving the tent, he’d check around nearby until seeing a few practice dummies set nearby. While he prefer a sparring partner, he guessed this would do as he’d draw his steel sword, spinning the blade in his grasp and between hands. Stepping up towards the dump, he’d spring forward in a short leap, body twisting for a short spin before slashing his blade down at the dummy’s shoulder. The enchanted steel slice nearly cut cleanly through the hard wood and padded leather, though the Witcher didn’t hesitate at all. Pulling his sword back, he’d shift about to the right as if avoiding an attack, sword swinging across the dummy’s side before he stepped around to slash against the back.

He’d continue through different forms and attack patterns, although the dummy quickly began to fall apart as his mutant strength and razor sharp sword hacked at it. Being caught up in his practice fight, he nearly didn’t hear someone approaching him. Finishing a final swing, the dummy crumbled apart, being little more than tinder after his onslaught. Glancing back, he’d see a few knights and pages staring before they’d glance quickly away to return to their duties.

“A bit eager for a fight, aren’t we?”

Tyrion step forward from the departing crowd, Bronn following close behind with an amused smirk.

“Damn Geralt. Hate to see what you’d to against a living target.” The sellsword laughed. “Of course I doubt your opponents will just stand by and let you dice them like that.”

“Be disappointing if they were all that easy.” Geralt bluntly answered back. “Curious you two show up early. Thought you’d arrive with the rest of the royal procession.”

“Rather not get tied up by that march. Besides I doubt Cersei would want me seen even on the same street with her.” Tyrion replied with a mischievous grin. “Also as master of the games I should take my job seriously. We have the most powerful and influential people from across Seven Kingdoms here after all.”

Suddenly there was the trumpeting of a horn in the distance, quickly drawing everyone’s attention. The dwarf had a curious look on his face as he’d move around the tents as there was the stomp of horses approaching the tournament camping grounds.

“Strange…the King wasn’t supposed to arrive for at least a few more hours.” Tyrion muttered as the trio moved to investigate with the rest of the crowd.

“Maybe Robert being more proactive for once.” Geralt jested.

However as they joined the crowd by the trail, they’d quickly realize the approaching riders weren’t the royal guard, instead being dressed in the red and golden colors of the Lannister family. The well armored men marched alongside one older gentlemen wearing similar regal armor. The man had balding white blond hair and had quite the aged stern appearance. One glance though and Geralt blink in shock, unable to shake how similar the man looked to another he knew…and disliked ever so greatly.

Tyrion had his own look of surprise before it sharpen into a more serious glare. “Well…this is unexpected and troubling.” He muttered as the man rode towards them, his guard following closely around him to partly surrounding the trio now.

“I have a good idea who this is…the resemblance is clear.”

“You’d best not let him hear that.” Tyrion warned as the man neared them, his blue eyes having a commanding nature to them.

For a moment the armored lord said nothing as he coldly looked down on Tyrion, a show of distain showing in his eyes. The dwarf however kept that calm look, even a small hint of a grin on the corner of his lips to keep a look of confidence. The man’s gaze shifted pass Bronn, giving the sellsword no attention as the man focused on Geralt. Like many others those eyes had a judging and calculating towards the Witcher, though Geralt showed no weakness or fear towards the lord.

At last though Tyrion spoke up to break the unnerving silence. “Hello father. I must say this is a…surprising visit from you.”

Tywin was silent for a moment, expression impassive even as he spoke. “Really now? For the first time in months our family is gathered in one place. It be unfitting of me to not visit…even if I detest Robert’s senseless games.” The man’s voice had Geralt tense, unable to believe how it sounded exactly like Emhyr’s. “Besides I heard much about this one…Geralt isn’t it?” The man’s gazed narrowed, curious hint showing across his aged face. “You have an odd look about you. Almost as if you’ve met me before…”

“Indeed my lord...let’s just say you’re a near splitting image of someone I know.” The Witcher answered back coldly, making Tyrion pale as he already felt things were about to go from bad to worse.

**…**

  
**Notice: I thought to give the catspaw dagger some custom history to it, I do hope it’s fitting considering the book and show has told little about it. A good reference for Geralt’s improved armor is the Grandmaster Wolf Armor, with a few personal touches to it. Please share your thoughts about these personal changes, along with the surprise guest to the tournament!**


	17. Season 1 Episode 16: Tournament of the Hand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the tournament in Eddard's honor beginning, Geralt comes face to face with the brutal Gregor Clegane, the Mountain. Meeting the closest thing to a monster within Westeros, the Witcher knows conflicted is unavoidable with this violent killer. Yet in turn he also continues to find new friends and allies among those visiting the tournament. Intrigue is also another thing he can not escape as he beginning to learn the dangerous secret Queen Cersei has.

**Season 1 Episode 16: Tournament of the Hand**

**…**

For a long moment no one said anything, though Tywin’s guards and Tyrion seemed a little nervous from how Geralt spoke towards Lord Lannister. The stern eyed man stared down at the Witcher, Geralt not even blinking under that intimidating gaze. After tense moment, Tywin gave small scowl or perhaps a smirk, Geralt wasn’t certain considering how the man kept such a composed temperament.

“Bold as the rumors say. I’ve heard how you speak out of line at times, even towards King Robert…” Tywin remarked.

“Bad habit from home.” The Witcher answered back in dry sarcasm. “Had to deal with a lot of troublesome nobility over the years and the King is the type I disagree with the most.”

“At least you’re honest, a virtue few have here in King’s Landing.” Tywin was silent for a moment, thinking to himself before speaking again. “You are a curious visitor Geralt, one who may be worth my time considering.”

Geralt didn’t respond, though his passive look hinted he didn’t like the noble’s tone or choice of words. Tywin most likely didn’t care yet did not comment on the Witcher’s lack of a reaction. However, the sudden stomp and clank of heavy horse armor could be heard coming up from behind Tywin’s mounted guards. The Lannister men shifted their horses aside to reveal who approached the group. It was a giant of a man who rode atop an equally large horse, the biggest Geralt had ever since in all of his travels. The massive rider of the war horse was decked in heavy iron armor with a barreled helm covering his head. On the right side of the saddle was a claymore, which would be considered oversize if not specially forged for this giant of a warrior. It wasn’t hard for the Witcher to understand just who this heavy warrior was.

“Ah Gregor. Glad you’ve caught up with us.” Tywin casually greeted the iron clad knight.

The Mountain only have a muffled grunt from under his helmet, which turned just slightly to look over at Tyrion and Bronn before settling on Geralt. While the Witcher couldn’t clearly see the man’s face or eyes, he felt an intense aggression coming off from him.

“So…that’s him?” Gregor suddenly remarked. “You’re the one who’s been trouble for my brother? Heh…you seem a bit small even for a pest.”

“Gregor Clegane. Heard quite a lot about you.” The Witcher tone was cold and intimidating despite its calm manner. “Surprised you even care about Sandor.”

“I don’t.” The man growled, the sound intensified with his helmet echoing it. “Yet I have a family reputation maintain…one that I don’t plan to let Sandor or you drag down…”

“Enough!” Tywin spoke up before anyone else. “You’ll keep your temper in line over these next few days Gregor. Last tournament you caused enough unwanted trouble on and off the field. Step out of line and I will have you sent back to your holdings.”

Gregor glanced at Tywin, making Geralt wonder if he’d snap back at his Lord or even lash out. He’d simply give a frustrated grunt before forcing his war house about, heading off no doubt to his tent.

“You sure it’s safe having him take part in the tournament?” Geralt questioned.

“The King requested for him, so it is his duty to participate.”

“Right…because a rapist and child murderer is worthy of fighting alongside knights.” The expected dry sarcasm showed, yet there was no amusement in mentioning Gregor’s ‘achievements’. Tywin was silent, those sharp eyes hinted the man’s curiosity over the Witcher’s open hate towards his champion. “Best rest up Lord Lannister. The first event will be starting in a few hours.” With a short bow, Geralt turned to head towards his tent while Tyrion moved up to speak with his father as he’d slowly ride off to his own encampment.

**...**

Once within his tent, Geralt unslung his swords from his back, stretching a bit as the stress of practice shifted off his shoulders. He was frustrated with his encounter with Tywin, mainly because of how much the man reminded him of the Emperor. If anything he was surprised Tywin had been so formal with him despite his sharp words and wit.

“Heh…Emhry would have given some cold threats at the least.” He said with a small chuckle, remembering the tense encounters he had with the Emperor of Nilfgaard. He’d stop his mutterings though as he heard footsteps nearing his tent before Tyrion and Brann quickly entered. “I’d ask you’d knock first…yet that require a door.”

“Amusing.” Tyrion said before sighing. “I swear Geralt, I thought I had authority issues, yet you seem to be picking fights with every knight or lord you disagree with. In this case father seemed to respect your upfront behavior, even if he didn’t show it.”

“I’m more impressed you had the balls to talk back to the Mountain. Heard a lot about the man…thought a lot of it was crap…but seeing the man you can tell he’s natural born killer.” Bronn remarked with a smirk. “Guess nothing faze you.”

“If you only knew.” Geralt muttered with a small smirk of his own, making sellsword give a questioning look for a moment. “No need to worry. I don’t plan to make an enemy of Lord Tywin…although Gregor already sees me as one.”

“Nearly every warrior you’ve met has been like that towards you.” Tyrion chuckled as he’d move for one of the empty chairs opposite of the Witcher. “Overall I can say if anyone can match up to the Mountain it be you or perhaps the Hound if he has the will to face him. Most of the nobility are betting against you mainly because they underestimate your skill.”

“Not surprising. They always do with anyone who’s not noble born.”

“Which is why I’m counting on you. I put half of my personal fortune towards you making it through the Melee and then the follow up matches. If you win we’ll easily triple in earnings.”

“Double for me.” Bronn chuckled. “So you best not fuck this up Geralt otherwise you’ll have to deal with me unless Gregor is he doesn’t gut you first.” Thankful the sellsword’s tone was friendly enough to not make his words sound like a threat…or at least Geralt hoped so.

Before anyone could say anything else there was the sudden blaring fanfare of horns in the distance. Geralt, Tyrion and Bronn headed outside of the tent to see the pages and knights were hurrying towards main road leading into the tourney grounds, no doubt to look presentable to their King and the royal court. Soon they could see the waving flags of House Baratheon, a yellow banner with a black stag rearing upward. Half of the King’s Guard were leading the royal march, the front rider being an older yet fit gentleman with short white hair and beard. He did remember seeing the man often talking and training with the King’s Guard, who all seemed respected and obeyed his command.

“Ser Barristan Selmy.” Tyrion muttered to Geralt. “Lord Commander of the King’s Guard and most honored of the order. His skill and chivalry was considered second only to Arthur Dayne, although many feel age has dulled his fighting prowess.”

For a while Geralt studied the man, noting the calm way the Lord Commander nodded and softly smiled to knights who greeted him. At the same time though those sharp blue eyes were alert as for a moment the aged man noticed Geralt standing in the back of the gathered knights. Suddenly though, Barristan’s gaze suddenly snapped towards Geralt, despite the Witcher being mixed in with a small crowd. There was an alert glared in those eyes which quickly softened as the man gave a small respectful nod right at him. Right then the Witcher knew the man had a nearly unnatural sense picking out possible threats among many people, showing the man was very much capable in his late age.

“No…far from it.” He muttered, making Tyrion give an odd look.

“Perhaps. Jaime has only praise and respect for the man considering Selmy trained him. No doubt grooming my brother to replace him when age takes him.”

Geralt simply nodded as his attention was on Jaime who rode alongside his mentor. He was dressed in his fine golden King’s Guard armor which was polished have a near blinding gleam to it. While he had that smug looking look on his face, Geralt could tell the Lannister was tense from his posture. Obviously the coming games had him eager to take part, though he seemed more serious than usual.

The Witcher’s attention shifted towards King Robert who followed behind his royal guard, drawing up cheers from the surrounding knights as he gave a quite booming laugh and waved to them. This was the first time Geralt had seen Robert so lively beyond his drunken moments during feasts. If anything the Baratheon seemed like a proper king for the moment as the man took the time to even ride up to a few knights and lords he knew, shaking hands and quietly speaking to them.

Following close behind Robert was Eddard who had a small smile seeing his friend so active after so many weeks. Lord Stark would notice Geralt off to the side, giving a small nod to the Witcher as he’d continue leading the royal parade along. More members of the Small Council followed, the three being Renly, Petyr and Grand Maester Pycelle. Renly much like his brother was active going up to greet the knights while Littlefinger kept to himself, only chatting with a few minor lords who he most likely had connections and dealings with. Pycelle was the slowest of the group, the old man seeming more focused on trying to stay on his saddle then pander to the nobility.

Behind them rode Joffrey with a smug grin on his face as he looked over gathered warriors greeting them. No doubt the prince’s ego was being stoked, even if the attention was directed towards his father rather than him. Sandor was following close behind the prince, dressed in full armor and his infamous hound helmet which hid his face away, although considering how he didn’t so much as glance to the crowd he seemed to have no interest acknowledging the other knights.

Lastly was a red and gold painted carriage which had its windows panels opened up for the Queen Cersei, her younger children and Sansa to greet the knights. The Queen had a coy calmness with how she smiled and waved to the men while Sansa seemed nervous yet giddy seeing the knights. It was a nice to see the young lady enjoy a moment from all the stories she had heard, having brave knights fawning for her attention. Indeed he did notice a few of the younger men muttered and nodding to her, showing that the fair northern maiden was catch interest. Two other blond haired children peeked out the window, a boy and girl who Geralt had seen a few times at the Red Keep yet hadn’t greeted. From what he knew these were Cersei’s and Robert’s younger children, Joffrey’s siblings. He guessed Cersei was being quite protective of them considering he rarely had seen them away from her. Arya was also in the carriage, dressed in a mix of a dress and outdoors clothes she often wore. She looked casually over the crowd, seeming bored from no doubt having to spend an hour listening to her sister and Cersei chattering away. Geralt would wave to catch her attention, making the young girl’s dull gaze snap to attention. She’d grin and wave back, her mood instantly improved seeing him.

The royal party headed towards the royal stands, Robert being the first to reach his comfortable seat at the top space, with Cersei sitting beside him. Their children followed up, taking seats around their parents while the Hound stood behind Joffrey, silently guarding the them all. Everyone else took any seat they wished, although the Starks all sat alongside each other with Eddard sitting between his daughters, most likely to prevent bickering between them. Lord Baelish and Pycelle sat behind Starks while Lord Renly sat back left of Baelish, no doubt to chat with him without intruding on the Starks space.

Not long after the group was seated, the knights and servants returned to their duties to prepare for the opening ceremonies. From the road the commoners began to enter the tourney grounds, being directed by the City Watch to the stands and open space where they could sit. The city folk were quite excited from how they chattered, yet behaved well enough. A few did cheer and call out to Robert who’d chuckled and wave back, showing that his popularity wasn’t exaggerated. Course from Geralt’s experience everyone loved a war hero, even one who had long fallen out of his prime like Robert.

“Time for me to get to work.” Tyrion muttered as he patted Geralt on the back. “You best ready yourself for the opening ceremony. Should be starting soon once the common folk have settled in.”

The Witcher simply nodded in response as he watched the dwarf hurry off with Bronn following after him. Returning to his tent, Geralt took the time to double check his swords, deciding having his silver blade as a backup won’t hurt. He doubted he’d need it, yet it was habit to carry it in more combative situations. However he did linger when it came to the Dragon Fang dagger. He didn’t trust in leaving it at the Red Keep or his tent, not wanting some agent to steal it away. In the end, he strapped the blade to his hip, guessing it be safest with him and could become handy in a pitch.

Soon a signal horn was blown, the call for the contestants of the tourney to gather up. Geralt was quick to follow the call as he and the many other knights and warriors began to line up before the stands. The Witcher avoided standing too close to the Mountain who stood in the center of the lineup. One warrior that stood out beside the Mountain was a bald older fellow dressed in red scarlet robes with chainmail under it along with plated leggings and boots. He was the fattest of the gathered warriors and most relaxed considering the cheery grin he had.

“Thoros of Myr.” A young male voice spoke up, getting Geralt’s attention to his right. Beside him was a young man with long curly brown hair and fair tan colored eyes. He was dressed in the most lavished armor Geralt has seen yet, gleaming steel plate stylized with jeweled flowers on breastplate and shoulders. Even the silvery white cloak had white roses weaved into it, making it a very extravagant piece from considering. “An odd-looking man for sure, yet appearances can be deceiving.”

“Heard he’s a mad man brawler who favors swinging a flaming sword into battles.” Geralt commented. “Yet you…hmm…guessing from flowers and fine armor you’re from Highgarden. A Tyrell?”

“Heh, you’ve guessed correct my friend.” The young knight chuckled before holding out a gauntleted hand which Geralt shook. “Loras Tyrell, third born of Mace Tyrell.”

“Geralt of Rivia. Adviser and bodyguard for Lord Stark, the Hand of the King.” He answered back. “I’ve heard a bit about you in my studies. Quite renown for your jousting prowess from what I’ve learned.”

“My skills as a knight are the pride of my House for sure. Highgarden may not have a proud history of warriors like the Starks or of leading armies like the Lannister’s yet we have always been renowned for our chivalry and elegance.” Loras answered back. “I can say I’ve heard a bit of you since arriving to King’s Landing. The white haired stranger from beyond even Essos, a man who faced the Hound fearlessly. If anything it’s rare for an outsider to get such praise and trust-”

However, the trumpeting of horns would interrupted the young knight, making both him and Geralt snap their attention to the royal stand as Robert stood up from his seat. The large man gaze drifted over the gathered men before speaking loudly out. “All of you are the finest knights and champions the Seven Kingdoms has to offer. From the old and veteran to the young and gifted. Battle is what you live for and even in times of peace it has its uses.” His hand gestured out to the other stands where the commoners cheered, the lined warriors all turning to face them. “Today you fight for them. To remind them that when war comes you’ll be there to protect them.” A broad grin crossed the King’s face. “So show us your fighting spirit! Give us a grand show of your prowess!”

The men clapped, a few cheered at the King’s short yet inspiring speech. Geralt had to admit he didn’t expect one from the man, making him wonder if Eddard had pressured Robert to be proactive during the tournament. He may have well wrote the speech considering, though he wouldn’t put that credit aside just yet.

Once Robert had sat down, Eddard shifted to stand from his seat, making everyone quiet down. “As our good King has said, it is an honor for you all to come so far for these next few days. Indeed, we’ve had a long peace, twenty years of it which we are thankful for every single day.” He’d pause for a moment as the crowds gave short cheers and mutters of agreement. “This tournament is meant to honor me for becoming our King’s Hand. Yet I feel it is unjust to have it so…”

The statement drew a few confused looks, especially from Robert who shifted forward in his seat. Cersei and Baelish had curious looks, wondering what Lord Stark was getting at.

“I dedicate this tournament not in my honor but to you.” He’d gesture to the gathered warriors but also to the commoners crowded across the field. “To the men who dutifully protect us and to the honest folk whose honest work make our country so successful.” The declaration drew a joyous cheer from the commoners, but Eddard continued to speak. “For the duration of the games, fresh food and fine drink will be freely given. It is time the people enjoy the rewards of peace and prosperity for these fruitful years of unity.”

Already the commoners seemed eager to take up on Ned’s generosity as people stood up from where they sat. At this point Tyrion would step out from the nearby tents, moving to the center of the field to draw everyone’s attention. Quickly the citizens were muttering about when they saw the dwarf, taking note of his fine clothes and golden hair as mutterings of ‘Lannister’ and ‘imp’ quietly echoed through the air. Tyrion however didn’t let the whisperings get to him as he’d give a formal smile and short bow. “Ladies…Gentlemen…I know you are all eager to enjoy Lord Stark’s generous offer, but as Master of the Tourney it is my duty that we keep things orderly.” Soon city watch filed around, seeming ready to direct the crowds to some nearby tents. “The Watch will show you to the tents were you can get food and drink. However I ask that you don’t take long since the first event will be beginning shortly, the archery competition. We have some fine competitors from across and beyond the Kingdoms, so this is something you will not want to miss.

The masses seemed quite surprised by the dwarf’s polite and friendly manners as he’d give an order to one of the guard captains, who’d begin leading the eager commoners to the food tents. Soon people were enjoying fresh meat, bread, pastries and ale as any early lunch. Geralt was surprised with how organized the people were, half expected a bit of brawling or hording. However they seemed to respect the both Eddard’s and Tyrion’s direction to enjoy this rare kindness.

“Now then good knights and warriors. May I ask all except those taking part in archery to leave the field?”

The men dispersed from the line, moving to the sidelines of the field, returning to their tents or even taking an empty seat among the royal stands. Geralt moved for the stands, noticing how Ned had Arya holding a seat for him set between them. “Talk to you later Ser Loras. Try to relax while you can.”

“Heh I plan to. Until next time Ser Geralt.” The youthful knight gave a respectful bow before moving for his tent, though for a moment paused to wave at the royal stand. The Witcher glance across the seats, noticing Renly having a small smile as he’d wave back to the young Tyrell before he continue towards his tent.

Geralt guessed the two were friends, so he didn’t think too much on the matter as he’d walk through the royal stands and towards the Stark’s seats. Moving up the steps, he’d noticed Tywin had joined with his family, having changed out of his armor to a plain fine clothed nobleman’s outfit. Sitting close by Cersei, the two quietly speaking, although pausing a bit when they noticed him. Geralt didn’t react as he’d move along towards the Stark’s

Sansa gave a small nod to him as he shifted pass her while Arya shifted from her seat to an empty one just next to her so Geralt could sit next to her father.

“Quite the speech you made there. Took quite a few people by surprising.” Geralt remarked once he sat down.

“Had a lot of free time to think over and prepare it.” Ned chuckled. “Have to make a good impression with the commoners, assure them I’ll be a just Hand of the King. Besides after this tournament I doubt there will be any as large as this for many years.”

Geralt nodded in agreement. “Going to be hard keeping Robert in line considering his habits. Did you convince him to do that little opening speech?”

“He did that himself. Perhaps he realizes he needs take active role if he wants me to follow any requests…I guess you can say it’s a step towards compromise between us.”

“And that compromise is involving dealing with Daenerys’s?” Geralt said in a hushed voice.

Ned’s expression hardened slightly. “As I said…steps to compromise.” He was silent, hinting that topic was finished. “Point is this is meant to be a day promoting peace and unity, even if it is shaky at times. You know how important that is.”

Geralt thought back to his home, of how the Northern Realms had crumbled into bickering and senseless wars, leaving them weak for Nilfgaard. If anything the Seven Kingdoms had become far more successful, even if he could see the cracks and divides. “I do.” He simply muttered before feeling Arya tug at his arm.

“Look, the Im- I mean Lord Tyrion is going to speak again.” She quickly whispered.

The dwarf once more walked onto the field, everyone quieting down after a moment. Looking about between the different stands and crowds, Tyrion gave a small charming smile before speaking. “Now that everyone is settled in, I think it’s time we get this tournament started.”

On que, ten men armed with bows and quivers marched out onto the field. One of men was King’s Guard member, a broad and muscular man, who had changed out of his plate armor for near golden tanned leather while the rest of the men were a more plain mix. A few were rather plain, seeming more like hunters or infantry bowmen. However one man did stand out to even the fine dressed King’s Guard, a dark skinned man who reminded Geralt of a Zerrikanian. He was dressed in a bright yellow leather and half scale armor with a colorful green and red feathered cape. Even his bow was more ornate then the others, being made of a light green wood and having artistic carvings along it.

“Ten of the finest archers in the land. While jousting and melee prowess are honorable skills to master, to perfect the art of marksmanship requires much more.” The dwarf paced about the lined archers. “I’m certain most could shoot clearly say…twenty so paces. Yet what at fifty and beyond? These men have the keen eye and discipline to hit their targets in the most stressful of situations and thus puts them in a whole league of their own.” He’d gesture to the far end of the field. “The contest is simple. Scoring based on distance and target. The final three will then take part in a special challenge of skill and a final scoring to determine the winning champion!”

The crowd clapped and muttered eagerly as Tyrion directed the archers down to the shooting field, each man choosing a target and distance before they began shooting. For the next hour, Tyrion gave casual commentary, giving grand praise for good shots and light hearted jests to mishaps which drew amused chuckles. Geralt casually watched, only noting the King’s Guard and the feather caped man who were both quite skilled as the other archers were picked off. However, among the more plain bunch was one young freckled man with light brown hair had ended up among the final three. Despite the bored look he had, the man had a deadeye aim and had surprising speed with his shots.

“Very interesting. I give you our top three archers!” Tyrion approached the King’s Guard knight, patting the strong man on the arm. “Balon Swann, stalwart and dutiful member of the King’s Guard!”

He’d move onto feathered caped archer. “Jalabhar Xho, prince of Red Flower Vale and rightful heir to the exotic Summer Isles.” The dark-skinned man bowed, seeming pleased with the respect Tyrion showed relating to his titles.

“And lastly we have…” He’d pause as he’d quickly speak to the freckled archer for a moment. “Anguy…the archer! Bowman of the Dornish Marches!” Seemed the dwarf had be a little creative giving the common born man an interesting title in comparison to his competitors.

“These men will shoot from the farthest distance at one hundred paces! Whoever scores the most will win the prize of ten thousand gold dragons! A small fortune indeed.” Balon kept a calm look, while Xho had a serious look show on his face. Anguy lightly licked his lips eagerly, no doubt imagining the luxuries he could buy with such wealth.

“However I promised a special challenge for them. There is no prize for winning it, only to show their talents even further.” Tyrion paused for a moment, building up tension. “Now…what if I told you that I met a man who could block an arrow?” For a moment no one spoke, a few chuckles filling the air, making Tyrion shrugged. “Ah right…I’m certain many of our knights and warrior could block an arrow with a shield, but what of batting it out of the air with his blade?” A few more chuckles filled the air, with a curious mutterings mixed in as well. “You see, when I was visited the far north months ago and in my travels was ambushed by raiders, Wildlings who had snuck into our lands.” Boos followed, curses and insults sent to the savages. “My companions and I did not see them at first. An archer tried to pick me off from the shadows, an arrow aimed for my skull. However much to my own shock, one man lunged into action, slapping the missile out of the air and to strike harmlessly to the ground.”

Already Geralt knew it was his moment now as he’d shift in his seat, glancing to Arya and whispering. “Watch closely, you may learn something.” She had a confused look before he’d get up from his seat and moving to leave the stands, giving a small nod to Ned who seemed curious on what was about to happen.

“You may doubt my story, call it simply a tall tale or lie…yet it is true for the man who saved me is right there!” He’d point to Geralt just as he left the stand, drawing hundreds of gazes towards him as he’d stroll out onto the field. “I give you Geralt of Rivia, a traveler from distant lands beyond even Essos! He is a Witcher, a member of an ancient order of warriors who are protectors of the road and slayer of fierce beasts that trouble the land.” By now Geralt reached the trio of archers, shaking hands and formally greeting them.

“I hope Tyrion isn’t jesting Ser Geralt. I’d rather not put an arrow in you.” Balon remarked in a concerned manner.

“Trust the man White Cloak. There is something about him…yes…I can tell this will be interesting.” Xho muttered, with a small grin.

“Eh…if he gets shot up then it his own fault.” Anguy said dismissively. “Bet you ten crowns I’ll put an arrow into his knee.”

No one remarked on the young commoner’s rude words, although Geralt’s sharp eyes had the archer shift nervously back when he glanced right at him.

A page holding a bundle of arrows approached the group, handing them five arrows each, which on closer inspection were dulled down to be blunted. “Training arrows? Heh guess they don’t want any accidents.” Anguy remarked as he’d tapped a finger at one of the arrow tips.

“Still leave a bruise maybe a cracked rib on a direct hit.” Balon muttered before Tyrion spoke out again.

“Now, may I ask the archers to please stand by the targets? We will be shooting at sixty so paces, far enough to make this fair.” Tyrion directed, which the men obeyed, each man taking a spot between the targets. “The rule are simple. Your goal is to hit Ser Geralt with what arrows you have. You may take turns or even fire together. Challenge the Witcher however you see fit.”

Geralt stood in the men’s firing line, smoothly drawing his fine steel blade and shifting into a defensive stance. For a moment Balon and Xho were hesitant, yet Anguy smirked as he’d suddenly draw his bow.

“I’ll make this quick!”

The arrow went flying, sailing through the air, barely trackable for the bare human eye. Thankful Geralt’s eyes weren’t human as they easily followed the speeding arc of the arrow. With lightening quick reflexes, his blade swung through the air, the crack of it hitting the missile just being heard. For a moment there was silence as Anguy squinted his eyes as he tried to figure out what just happened.

Geralt shifted as he’d pick up the arrow he had just knocked out of the arrow, holding it up for the young man and crowd to see who gasped in shock before he’d throw it aside.

“W-What…No…no fucking way?!” Anguy growled out in disbelief before he’d readied another shot.

Xho drew his bow back as well as both of them fired after each other. Geralt’s blade twisted and turned about, blocking Anguy’s second shot, yet angling for a deflection this time. He was quickly to parry away Xho’s arrow into the ground just as Anguy readied his third arrow. The young man however paused as he heard a thud to the target beside him, were his second arrow had just being reflected back into. Soon Balon joined in, but even with the three men firing at him the Witcher continued to block and deflect their arrows. The crowd was actively cheering and wooting, support mixed towards the archers and Geralt.

In the end the three men soon ran out of shots, much to Anguy’s frustration as he cursed under his breath. The Witcher took a deep breath as he calm himself, adrenaline pumping through his body from the intense challenge. If anything it had been a good excise for him and assuring him his reflexes were in top shape. Sheathing his sword, he’d see the three men looking to the targets, realizing about half of their shots had been reflected back towards them.

Tyrion stepped back onto the field, a quite smug grin on his face. “Believe me now? I doubt you will find any other man in the world who can accomplish this!”

Cheers filled the air, the people openly amazed by the impossible feat. Geralt glanced to the royal stands to see Arya was cheering eagerly while Ned had an amazed yet impressed look on his face as he clapped along. Sansa and Cersei looked baffled, unsure what they had just seen before their very eyes. Lord Baelish seemed oddly nervous as Renly was muttering something with an amused smirk on his face. King Robert and Joffrey was on their feet, a wide grins on their faces as they clapped and cheered loudly. Tywin though remained seated clapping respectful, his face hinted that he was impressed at the impressive display of skill.

“You will see more of Geralt here during the Melee. For this is a man who battled a dozen Wildlings singlehandedly without getting so much of a scratch! Let’s not be too distracted though, we have a competition to finish and a joust to follow up afterwards!”

The trio of archers approached Geralt, although Anguy didn’t speak with the Witcher as he seemed too frustrated and disbelieving over what happened.

“You are far from an ordinary warrior Witcher.” Xho chuckled. “I cannot explain it…yet I never imagined a man to send a marksman arrow back at him.”

“Thankfully not right at us.” Balon remarked. “Just how in the hells did you do it?”

“Trade secret and a lot of practice. Trust me, I’ve taken my share of arrows to the side over the years mastering that move.” Geralt answered back. “Yet I can say you’re all masterful archers and you shouldn’t let this discourage you.”

“No…if anything this encourages me!” Xho smirked. “I will have to hone my skill more if I am to best someone like you.”

“Hopefully you won’t met anyone else like me…” The words had the two feel a bit nervous, wondering just how dangerous Geralt truly was. The Witcher would gave a short bow to them both before returning to the royal stands.

“Archers! Let us begin the final test! One hundred paces please.” Tyrion spoke out as they’d resume the competition.

Reaching his seat, Geralt sighed as he sat down before Arya quickly spoke up. “That…I…it was just like your dueled with Syrio’s! I mean…more of how quickly you moved.”

“I can say I’m at a loss for words Geralt.” Ned chuckled, shaking his head. “If I didn’t know you I’d claim you used some kind of trick. Considering how fast I’ve seen you move though, I think only you could pull of such a risky move.”

“Prefer using that technique only when it’s needed. A lot less risky when I can just dodge an arrow.” Geralt remarked back before glancing to Arya. “And I know what you’re thinking…no I’m not going to teach you that move. Far too dangerous for you.”

The girl sighed before nodding, seeming to understand the Witcher’s reasons. Everyone’s attention focused back to the competition as the three archers took difficult shots at their targets from quite the far distance. Despite the frustration Anguy had shown, the young man seemed more driven than distracted as he landed bullseye after bullseye, outmatching his opponents.

“It seems we have a winner! In an impressive show of skill, I proclaim Anguy of the Dorn Marshes archery champion!” The dwarf shook hands with the young man whose scowl was now a grin as the dwarf chatted with him before handling him a sizable purse of gold. It was certain Anguy was going to be paying a long visit to the Street of Silk to waste away his prize money. He’d give a small wave to the crowd and hurry off the field, disappearing into the nearby crowd of tents.

“A fine show yes? However I feel our other knights deserve some attention…so let us begin the joust!” On his declaration, horns trumpeted as from the two ends of the jousting field the different knights from before filed out. It was quite the display as each rider was dressed uniquely from Gregor’s gruff yet practical iron plate, Jaimie’s regal golden royal armor and Lora’s artistic silvery steel. All of them carried the flag of their House or other heraldry in a small parade before the crowds.

“This will be interesting.” Geralt muttered to Ned who nodded in agreement. He’d have to pay close attention to each knight, since he’d be facing them in the Melee tomorrow, that they didn’t get too badly injured during the jousting.

**…**

For the next few hours the knights jousted across the field in a grand show of prowess, entertaining the commoners and nobility alike. Geralt took the time to relax, casually chatting with Ned and his daughters. Ever so often he’d share a bit of commentary with his combat experience on how well the men preformed on the field. While he never jousted, he understood the rules and skill required to properly compete. The first half of the jousting was normal enough, with a few injuries though nothing too serious. Four riders so far stood out from the most being the Clegane brothers, Jaime Lannister and Loras Tyrell. They seemingly outmatched everyone with the Cleganes often using their brute strength to dismount others while Jaime and Loras put more finesse to their technique.

Things became quite grim during Clegane’s second match with the Mountain going up against the late Jon Arryn’s former squire, Hugh of the Vale. The joust started off normally as the men made their first charge, both missing the other’s shield. The second charge ended with a hit this time as Gregor made a sudden lunge at the upper right corner of the man’s shield. The lance shattered against it, the resounding crack drawing gasps as both riders passed, Hugh losing his balance on his saddle. A few people stood up to see what was wrong, Geralt becoming among them as his sharp eyes quickly noting the man’s wound.

A massive splitter was stuck in the man’s throat, thick blood oozing around it and while more was filling into his mouth. Hugh’s struggled to breathe as he began choking on his own blood, a gory sound gasping from his gasping lips as he tried to cling to life. Glancing to the Starks he saw pure shock on Arya’s and Sansa’s faces as they helplessly watched a man die before them. Eddard had a grim look, as he noticed his children’s horrified looks, making him gently hold Sansa’s hand as he muttered something to her.

“Why…why doesn’t someone help him?” Arya muttered as Hugh garbled on what air he had left, soon becoming still.

“There was nothing that can be done.” Geralt muttered, placing a hand on the girl’s shoulder as she glanced away from the dead knight as pages hurried out to drag his corpse away. “I’m sorry you had to see something like that.”

Arya was silent, only nodding back as she seemed to calm herself after the sudden shock.

The Witcher glanced back to the field, noting how the Mountain rode along as if nothing had happened. No one dared stop or challenge him, too fearful after that gruesome scene.

“As cruel as his reputation says.” Littlefinger muttered, leaning in to speak with Geralt and Ned. “Always a death comes by his hand during a tourney, as if he needs one just to sate himself.”

“He’s a brute yes…but not a stupid as he seems.” Geralt answered back, drawing a questioning look from Baelish. “He knew what he was doing. The way he targeted Hugh’s shield meant any broken lance pieces would have pierced the man’s neck since the armor is more exposed on that side. Was at least a fifty fitty chance.”

“You’re that certain?” Ned asked, quickly noticing how Geralt tapped the side of his head to remind the Lord of his cat like eyes.

“It was a calculated move. Murder by mishap.”

Baelish had a small grin on his face, impressed by the Witcher’s deduction. “Tell me Geralt, have you ever wondered why the Clengane brothers hate each other so? You’d think the two be well bonded for their love for battle.”

Geralt didn’t answer at first before he’d shrug. “Fine…I’m curious to know.”

“Can say only a few know the truth of the Clengane siblings divide, only that it traces back to their childhood. Sandor was little more than six when it happened while his older brother was busy honing his skill for violence. One day Gregor comes home to find his brother playing his a wooden knight, his knight. So without a word he grabs young Sandor by the neck and shoves his face into the burning coals of the fireplace, melting half his brother’s face without so much of a care.”

For a moment the Witcher couldn’t help but imagine that scene as he’d glance at Sandor standing by the royal family. While the man had his hound helm visor, he could tell that Sandor knew his brother had intentionally killed Hugh. He could imagine the mixed feelings the Hound felt for the Mountain, the fear and anger that has been festering ever since his childhood.

“Sounds like a monster…” Geralt muttered as Gregor rode off for his tent. Already the Witcher felt a pent of fierceness stirring within him as he watched the giant of a man disappear. It had been too long since he killed a monster…

**…**

The rest of the jousting tournament went along normally as Gregor, Sandor, Jaime and Loras came out as the finalists. The first round between Jaime and Sandor was quite an exciting one as the Hound held nothing back against the Lannister knight. Jaime fought back boldly against the brutal warrior, doing faster charges and risky lunges with his lance. In the end though while neither dismounted the other, Sandor scored just slightly better than Jaime, leading to his victory.

“So much for the King Slayer.” Arya muttered, having expected the Lannister to have won.

“A lot more aspects to a joust than a duel. Bad luck can make the best rider loose despite all their experience.” Geralt remarked back. “Any battle can change in such a way, which is why you must always be aware and adaptive on a moment’s notice.”

The girl nodded before looking back to the jousting field as the last semi-final match began. Ser Loras rode by the royal stands, passing before the Starks. Nearing the Witcher, he’d catch on odd scent from the man’s horse, one that was a bit familiar although he didn’t question it just yet. The young knight had been doing so every match, always offering a white rose to one of the young ladies or maidens in a charming display for the crowds. This time though he had a red rose in hand as he’d stop before Sansa, offering it out to her with a charming smile. For a moment the girl seemed stunned, a small blush on her face before she accepted the rose.

“Thank you Ser Loras.” She sounded a bit flustered, almost making Geralt wonder if the girl would faint from the chivalrous gesture.

With his gift give Loras gave a short bow, though for a moment his gaze drifted upward along the stands. Glancing back, Geralt noted how Renly watched Loras riding off alongside Gregor, a concerned look showing on his face as the handsome young man was dwarfed by the imposing Mountain. After a moment Robert nodded to both to begin their joust, Gregor’s horse neighed and snouted, making the large man struggle a bit to direct his warhorse to his side of the field.

“Quite the riled-up horse.” Ned muttered.

“It’s because of Loras mount.” Geralt answered back. “It’s a mare, a strange choice for jousting. Not as strong or durable as a steed. Yet it has a musk about it…it’s in heat.”

“Keen observation Witcher or rather a sharp nose.” Littlefinger chuckled. “A lot of gold is on line in these final few matches. An underhanded move, yet a smart one.

Everyone became silent as both men had taken up their lances and Loras donned extravagant styled helmet. Geralt could hear Sansa muttering to her father, clinging to his arm as she seemed worried for the knight although Ned was quick to assure her. He had to agree with Lord Stark since so far Loras skill easily matched up against Gregor’s cunning brutality. Soon the trumpet was sounded and both men charged, going at full speed at the start. Gregor’s warhorse was unfocused as the giant of a man struggled to keep the powerful animal under control, leaving him exposed for Loras lance. A direct hit was made at the center Mountain’s shield, strong enough to make the weapon shatter and roughly stagger the iron clad knight.

Between the force of the blow and Gregor’s own weight, he and his horse tumbled to the side as the man fell onto the jousting barrier, crushing the wood as if it were made of twigs. Gasps and cheers filled the air as Loras rode up before the royal stand, bowing low to Robert who clapped eagerly. Geralt’s attention though was on the Mountain who was quick to stand up, throwing his helmet off in anger to reveal his face at last. He was rather gruff looking as expect, having large head and short cut hair in a classic soldiery styling.

“Sword!” He yelled out, making a page hurry off for his tent. Despite his cry, no one else noticing, being too distracted by Loras.

“Ned…” Geralt warned, tensing up as he knew something was wrong.

The page returned, carrying the Mountain’s massive sheathed blade which the man quickly drew out. With a roar Gregor swung his blade down at his steed’s neck, slicing cleaning through thick muscle and bone as he decapitated the horse with one blow. All cheering stopped as horrified yells escaped from the crowds, making Loras turn about to see the shocking scene…and the Mountain rushing at him. The young knight was quick to get his jousting shield up, blocking the massive sword yet bashing him off the side of his horse and fall roughly to the sandy ground. Despite the dazing fall, Loras was quick to roll onto his back and grasp the shield in both hands, blocking another blow which nearly split the shield apart.

At this point instinct kicked in for Geralt as he stood up, ignoring Ned who spoke out to him. Quickly he rushed out of the stands, steel sword drawn as he’d get between the Mountain and Loras. “Leave him-” He started as he grasp his sword in both hands, block the next incoming attack. Suddenly though another sword clashed with Gregor’s massive blade, making Geralt glance to the side as he realize Sandor had stepped in as well.

“-be?” Both muttered, a bit surprise at how the other had blindly rushed in Loras defense. For a moment both men were distracted, only snapped to attention when Gregor growled out. Pulling his sword back from their locked blades, swinging his sword horizontal at their chests. Both dodged back to avoid the long reach of that large weapon before lunging in to counterattack. The air rang with steel striking steel as Gregor struggled to fight back against the two skilled warriors. Geralt couldn’t deny that the Mountain was insanely strong as every blow he blocked stressed his arms. He remembered why he was taught to avoid blocking a monster’s blows since such attacks were too powerful to defend against safely, even with his enhanced strength. The clash went out for a few moments, adrenaline driving them all on to fight more fiercely. Small chants and cheers came from the commoners, calling out ‘Wolf’ and ‘Hound’ as the Mountain perhaps for the first time in his life faced real equals.

“Stop this madness in the name of your King!” Robert roared out, enough to make even Geralt glance towards him.

The booming command suddenly made Sandor stop in mid-swing as he quickly dropped down to one knee before the royal stand, sword braced into the sand. Gregor however didn’t stop himself as he swung downward at his brother, sword aimed for the Hound’s neck. For a moment Sandor glanced up, realizing his fatal mistake as the sword neared only for it to be stopped as Geralt’s sword blocked it. Growling, the Witcher shoved back with all his might, the massive man stagger a few steps away with a surprised look at the sudden burst of strength. Hateful eyes met the Witcher’s who gave a death glare, one that would make anyone else flinch in fear yet for the Mountain he didn’t so much as blink.

“Back off.” Geralt muttered as Gregor threw his blade into the sand, growling in anger as he’d glance between the two men and Robert who scowled back fiercely. He’d march off the field for the tents despite the city guard standing in his way, although the men seemed ready to piss themselves considering the shaky looks they had.

“Let him go!” Robert ordered, making the men quickly step aside. Considering their looks of relief, they seemed thankful for the King’s quick order.

Geralt sighed as he catched his breath, calming down as he’d sheath his sword while Gregor shifted to stand. The Witcher saw Loras get up as well, the young knight having crawled away to escape the clash between the three warriors. He seemed uninjured but a bit winded as he’d stand before both men, glancing between them with a thankful look on his face.

“I owe you my life Sers.” His tone was deeply respectful despite the few words said, making both Sandor and Geralt glance oddly about as if expecting some real knights to be behind them.

“I’m no Ser.” Geralt and Sandor both said, much like the moment the two had locked blades with Gregor. Both looked at each other, annoyance showing on the Hound’s face as he seemed ready to snap some insult at the Witcher.

“Please…I know you two have a rivalry, but you’ve just showed you can put that aside when needed.” Loras quickly pleaded before turning to face the crowd. “However I can honor you both! I give Sandor Clegane honor and prize of the joust and Geralt of Riva the favor of House Tyrell. Let their bravery be praised this day!” Grasping an arm from both of them, he raise them up high into the air as the crowd cheering loudly for the two gruff heroes. Sandor glanced aside, seeming embarrassed with the praise while Geralt felt out of place being in the limelight. After a long moment of cheering, Loras let go of their arms, giving Sandor a chance hurry away as he seemed eager to escape the crowds’ attention.

“That was unneeded…even if it was honorable of you.” Geralt muttered to Loras.

“It is the right thing to do. If anything I’m embarrassed I let that brute surprise me so…”

“I’ll admit I’m impressed you were able to block such blows. You’re a lot tougher then you look.”

“I did say before appearances can be deceiving.” The young knight jested as he’d pat the Witcher on the back before two pages hurried forward to check up on him. “I meant what I said Geralt. If you ever need it, House Tyrell will glad aid you however it can.” He’d quickly chat to his page, assuring the boy that he was alright as he’d be head for his tent.

By this point Tyrion would hurry out onto the jousting field, looking at Geralt in a quite dumbfounded manner. “First your face the Hound, then you blindly clash with the Mountain. You really must be brave or stupid…” He muttered, although a joking grin crossed his face. “Either way you amaze me once more Geralt.” Turning to the crowd, he spoke up to them. “An unforeseen turn of events! While Ser Loras and Sandor were to joust, it seems the honorable Tyrell had conceded the prize to the Hound. We have seen an historic event my friends, a true show of courage and chivalry!” By now Geralt hurried off the field while Tyrion gave his grand speech, a fitting distraction to slip away back to his tent.

**…**

He could hear the crowd cheering on a bit more as it seemed Tyrion had some side events going, mock duels or jousting feats to make up for the last match being canceled. Taking the time to change out of his armor and set his swords aside, he’d hear Ned speak up the tent entrance.

“May I come in?”

Geralt didn’t answer at first before giving a sigh. “Of course Lord Stark…” He muttered before Eddard entered.

“You know that was crazy what you did. The Hound I can understand yet Gregor…”

“Yes I know. I’m most likely going to hear that for weeks.” The Witcher grumbled as he’d move over to one of the cabinets the tent had, storing a mix of bottles ales and wines. He carelessly picked one bottle and two cups, filling them up before setting down at the table. “Just instinct to rush in like that. Wasn’t going to let the Mountain kill anyone else today.”

“Sandor seemed to have had it under control.” Ned remarked as he moved for an empty seat, picking up his cup of wine before drinking it. “Always thought the Hound was fearful of his brother, but the fierceness he showed proved otherwise.”

“He would have been too slow. Loras would have been cleaved before he reached him.” Geralt plainly argued.

“Perhaps. Now though you’ve definitely shown Tywin, Robert…hells half the nobility of Westeros what your capable of. Forget rumors from months back, people are realizing that you’re far above even the best known warriors of our time…”

“I can only hold back so much Ned. Decades of experience is hard to keep in check when a monster like him is attacking.” He’d take a deep drink from his cup, sighing as he’d shake his head. “Doesn’t matter. I understand your concern, but I can handle whatever new intrigue or challenges came come up.”

Ned chuckled nervously. “That what worries me. You handle this so casually. I’d be a stressful wreak in your shoes.”

“If you live as long as me, you’ll find little will surprise you…well it shouldn’t.” The Witcher smirked a bit. “Worries and jests aside, I think we need to talk about the Lannisters. Lord Tywin’s arriving complicates things.”

Eddard nodded in agreement. “He’s not a man to be taking lightly. Cunning, manipulative and controlling in every degree. After you left the field he was quick to ask me about you, having heard of how we found you in the far North. I could tell he doesn’t buy the story of you being beyond Essos.”

“I’ll even admit it’s a weak excuse. Course, just saying I fell through a hole in the sky from another world wouldn’t be any better though.”

“True…I can only warn you to be careful with what you share about yourself. He can find faults and weaknesses better than most.”

Geralt simply nodded as he’d refill his cup, taking a deep drink from it. “Do you think he is involved with our investigation? Connected to Jon Arryn and the attack on Brann?”

“With Arryn I’m unsure yet with Brann I know he wasn’t involve. If he knew he’d most likely turn whoever did it just to win my favor and trust…which he’d earn considering.”

“Wouldn’t go that far…”

“Maybe…I’ll admit Geralt I’m tired of snooping and hiding this. I’d like nothing more than to up front with Robert on what we know and confront the Lannister’s or all of the royal court if it meant getting the truth!” Ned remarked back sternly. “You may find this normal but for me…”

“I know Ned. If anything I’d like nothing more than to have done this all on my own, yet that has long past.” Geralt calmly stated. “I know we’re close to a break through…and it all comes down to whatever Arryn saw in Gendry.”

“The boy has that much importance?”

“Considering someone with a lot of influence and wealth has securing his future…yes. There must be something more that Arryn noticed. You didn’t find anything new over the last few days have you?”

Ned paused, thinking for a bit. “I did question Grand Maester Pycelle on Jon’s death. Should have questioned the Maester sooner since he had quite a few hidden details to share.” He’d pause, taking a deep breath. “Jon didn’t die to natural causes but to poison. Tears of Lys, a quite rare and deadly poison that is very hard to trace.”

“Is that why the details of it are so recent?”

“Pycelle claims so. He had taken…samples from Jon when he examined him before and after his passing. I’d like to hope the Maester’s words are true.”

“Hm…maybe I’ll pay him a visit this evening. Haven’t had much of a chance to speak with him since arriving to the city. Here at the tournament I’ll be able to be a bit more discrete.”

“Be mindful still.” Ned warned before finishing his drink. “There are going to be a lot of eyes on you for the next few days. I’m certain tomorrow the crowds will be doubled just to see the Melee.” Eddard stood up from his seat before moving to leave. “I’d wish you luck for tomorrow…yet I know better. I have a feeling that despite the odds you will win.”

Geralt smirked at the man’s show of confidence, giving a small nod of thanks back before Eddard left the tent. Finishing the second cup of wine, Geralt stood up and stretched a bit before moving to the entrance flap of the tent. Peeking outside he could see things had calmed down as the commoners were busy filing out of the tournament grounds and returning to the city. The mix of entertainment and free meals had the masses quite happy as everyone was directed back to the main road leading to King’s Landing. However he could see that around his tent there was a small group of knights and nobles milling around, acting casual chatting about while always glancing toward his abode.

“Right…rather avoid that.” He’d shift back inside and draw out Dragon Fang as he’d move to the very back of the tent, cutting a short opening low to the ground, enough for him to couch through. Squeezing through the opening, he’d keep to the shadows the setting sun cast as he’d quickly walk around the back ends of the tents.

“Now then…the Maester’s…” It take forever to check every tent and in turn draw attention to him. He’d be still as he’d take a deep breath and focus his senses, mainly his hearing. The many echoing sounds of chattering voices, laughing, clanging armor and neighing horses became nearly deafening, yet he’d shut out the loader noises as he looked for one certain sound. Soon he detected it, the ratter of chains coming from a smaller tent set close by to the King’s royal pavilion. “Found you.”

Sneaking between the tents, he’d avoid the main pathways as he’d reach the Grand Maester’s private tent. When the coast was clear, he’d slip inside without anyone noticing. The inside of the tent while small was packed with a mix of alchemical and medical supplies. No doubt much of this was for emergencies during the tournament or for any dire needs for the King. Geralt noticed the old man busy at one of the work tables, working some mixing apparatus and muttering to himself, perhaps some formula. Oddly the man’s posture was different from before, the old man standing up straight and quite strongly as he worked.

“Grand Maester?”

Speaking up had the man give a small startled gasp, his stance shifting to a more slumped and shaky. The old man turned about, grasping something close to his robes yet relaxed when he saw the Witcher. “By the S-Seven Geralt! You should know better than sneak up on your elders like that…”

The remark was a bit amusing since Geralt knew very well he was the eldest in between the two of them. “I apologize for surprising you and for not having a proper discussion since I arrived here.”

“Ah…n-no worries. You no doubt have many duties very L-Lord Stark. My own tasks have kept me quite busy as well…experiments, medical needs and so on…” He’d mutter onward. “I’ve gotten Ravens from the Maesters of the North. Luwin and Aemon. Both have praised your quite scholarly knowledge…claim it’s that of a Maester’s even.”

Geralt shrugged as he’d pace around the tent, examining a few herbal samples and potions, recognizing most of them as he looked about. “Witchers are more than just warriors. Need to be knowledgeable on a lot of subjects such history, alchemy and magical theory.”

“Interesting. Yet while I’d enjoy d-debating and sharing knowledge, I feel you’re here on a more important manner.”

Geralt nodded as he’d face the old man, the calm cat like eye’s having the Maester shift nervously. “It’s about Jon Arryn. Ned told me you learned he was poisoned with a rare mixture.”

“Oh…I…yes. Tears of Lys. Foul mixture indeed with some h-horrible if subtitle symptoms.” He’d shuffle to a nearby book, flipping through it and gesturing for the Witcher to come look. “The substance is a clear and tasteless fluid which once digested eats away at the stomach and bowels. Often d-deaths caused by it are attributed to natural sickness or a-age, unless proper tests are done.”

“Tests that you preformed yes?”

“Of course! I consider myself an expert when it comes to err…poison. Many Maesters are against the study yet in service of the K-King it is needed.”

“Understandable. I know a good my share of toxic mixtures as well.” Geralt remarked back. “So does that mean the Red Keep has a poison storage?”

“I…well…yes.” Pycelle nervously muttered. “You do understand poisons in the very small dosages can counter act certain illness and other poisons. Also with the uhh…samples I can better identify what poisons maybe involved if any…incidents happen and thus get a proper anti-poison readied..”

Geralt nodded, the Maester’s explanation logical enough so far. “I take only you have access to this dangerous storage?”

“One of two, the other being in the Hand of the King’s care. Many of the mixtures are very reactive and proper handling is needed, yet the Hand has access incase my own is lost or for emergencies. If anyone among the court required access, they’d need to inform me and be have their request safely v-verified. I keep a very detailed log t-to ensure no wrong doing happens.”

“Right…so how did Jon Arryn get poisoned then? In fact do we even have the Tears in storage?”

“Of course not! The Tears is far too potent even in the smallest of doses for any medical needs. I have no idea how Lord Arryn was poisoned…no doubt someone outside the court.”

However Pycelle’s reaction was too quick and defensive. Either the man was over reacting, or he was hiding something. “Are you certain about that?” Geralt shifted his left hand up, fingers quickly flexing into the Axii Sign. He hoped the Sign was strong enough as the old man blinked, a dizzy look crossing his eyes.

“I…perhaps we did get a small supply. It was an exotic gift from Essos…err…a trader or guest I think.” The Maester muttered. “Should have poured it away…dangerous…even more when it was taken…”

Geralt gave an odd look at that last few words shared. “Taken? You mean stolen. When did this happen?”

However the Sign seemed to be wearing off as Pycelle shook his head and blinked rapidly. “Uhhh…light headed suddenly. What do you mean stolen…did I say something odd?” He seemed confused, quickly coming back to his senses.

The Witcher was tempted to try Axii again, however he wasn’t sure if it was worth the risk since using the Sign multiple times on an individual in a short period since made it easier to resist, along with the fact the magic was weak as it is. Before he could decide, he’d hear soft footsteps outside and the brushing of a long dress across the grass as someone entered the tent.

“Never mind. It was nothing Grand Maester…excuse me.” Geralt turned to leave, feeling he’d question Pycelle later back at the Red Keep.

“Oh…uhh…very well.” The old man sighed, shifting to sip something from a cup, giving a refreshed aside as the drink cleared his senses.

As Geralt neared the tent flap, he’d stop as Cersei stepped through, the woman pausing as she saw him. “Ser Geralt. I didn’t expect you to be here.” She calmly stated, being formal if on guard in tone.

“Had to visit the Grand Maester on a personal matter. Herbs for my own potions.” He simply answered back before bowing slightly to her. “I should return to my tent. Tomorrow will be a busy day after all.” As he shifted to move pass her, he could feel her sharp gaze at his back as he’d step outside and move around the tent. However he didn’t move on just yet as he linger by the tent, listening closely as Cersei approaching Pycelle.

“My Queen…what brings you in at this hour?”

“I need the usual medication Grand Maester…twice the dosage this time.” The woman calmly stated.

“Double? That is much…yet I have enough in stock. Is that wise though...surely the King-”

“Robert does not need to worry on the matter. He is more…active of late and I’d rather not have any unwanted mishaps.”

“Uhh…as you wish…” There was the soft clatter of vials as Pycelle seemed to find what was requested. “Remember. Small doses with drink. Take some before any uhh…love making or on a daily basis if signs of life stir within you. Overdosing could be…risky with the chance of infertility.”

“I know the risks.” Cersei was silent for a moment as she’d shift for the flap out of the tent. “Remember…not a word to Robert…”

Geralt stepped to the shadows as Cersei moved along, returning to the royal tents. Once she was out of sight, Geralt slipped away through the maze of tents and returned to his own, entering through the back opening he had made. Once alone, he’d give a small sigh as he’d think over what he had just overheard. It seemed Cersei was taking some mixture for pregnancy, mainly to prevent it and for quite a while from his understanding.

“Curious…” He muttered as he’d pace around the tent, packing away Dragon Fang with the rest of his gear in the nearby chest before doing to the comfortable cot set nearby. Already he a theory creeped into his head, something that seemed so obvious yet to crazy to be.

“What if they aren’t his children?”

The implication was troubling…very troubling. He couldn’t let that distract him just yet as he’d take a deep breath, relaxing himself on the cot as he closed his eyes. He still have the Melee tomorrow and he was certain everyone taking part was going to be ganging up against him. Of course he had no plans holding back against such imposing odds. It was about time he cut loose for once…

**…**


	18. Season 1 Episode 17: Fury of the Melee

**Chapter 17: Fury of the Melee**

**Forward: I’d like to thank Max00 and Rainsfere for their support. They helped by giving me advice and insight for the battles scenes on this lengthy chapter.**

**…**

As the first signs of the rising sun shined through the small openings of the tent, Geralt began to wake up at this early hour. Already there was a lot noise going around the tournament grounds as the servants and workers were busy getting the area prepared for the upcoming Melee. No doubt most of the knights and warriors involved were active, using the last few hours to steel themselves for the challenges ahead.

Despite the building tension he felt for the coming battle, Geralt’s thoughts lingered on the mysterious information he had overheard between Cersei and Pycelle. Between the fact that the poison that had killed Jon Arryn had been stolen along with the queen seeming to be taken medication to prevent pregnancy from her husband. He wasn’t certain if the two clues were linked together, though there must be some distant connection. What he needed was to question Pycelle further or speak to Cersei even for other clues.

“Have to watch every step from here on…” He muttered as he’d change into his armor, strap his swords on his back and slip Dragon Fang onto his belt. Heading outside, he’d see it was a quite welcoming morning with a cool overcast having creeped in from the nearby sea. His sharp nose could pick up the city stench off in the distance, the surrounding field and light woodland countered it to a degree. Moving across the small sea of tents, he headed to one of the private pavilions set up for the knights and nobility to eat and relax. The smell of fresh food had his stomach grumble, realizing he had missed out on dinner yesterday after his hasty retreat from Pycelle’s tent.

Walking around the large shaded area, his gaze was set on a line of tables were cooks were busy getting spiced chicken, roasted pork, fresh bread and much more laid out for the nobility. Getting a plate, he’d fit as much food as possible before finding an empty table, although the whole time everyone nearby gave glances and muttered in low excited tones. He paid no mind as he began to eat, needing all the energy he could get for the day. While his mutations pushed his body beyond normal human limits, it in turn required more energy to perform more incredible feats. A few of his specialized potions did vitalize himself, though such mixtures were unpleasant to drink and left him hungry still.

“Space for another white hair?” Someone chuckled out, making Geralt glance up from his plate to see a familiar face from yesterday. Thoros gave big grin, a quite friendly one even if his teeth were a light red from over drinking wine. Like yesterday he wore his mix of red robes lightly stained with wine, chainmail and plate leggings

Geralt shrugged. “I see no harm.”

Giving a pleased laugh, the boisterous man sat down across from the Witcher, setting his own plate along with a large goblet of red wine. “Many thanks then. We drifters must stick together after all…us few vagabond knights and roaming mercenaries.” Quickly he’d dig in, being a bit sloppy with his eating as he took apart his whole chicken.

“For a drifter you’ve come far. All the way from Essos from the city of Myr yes?” Geralt questioned.

Thoros nodded with a small chuckle. “Really every city along the coast of Essos will proclaim itself the ‘center of all trade’, yet Myr’s fertile lands give it an edge over all of them. Ah how I miss the wines from home.” At the mention, he’d take a deep gulp from his goblet, giving out a sigh. “Thank the Lord of Light the order does not disallow the drink among the priesthood. Life be dull without such dulling pleasure.”

“Lord of Light? Take that he’s some patron god of yours.”

“Aye. R’Hllor, God of Flame and Shadow among many other titles. The faith to the Red God stretches over much of Essos although the same can’t be said for Westeros. Heh…main reason I’m here even.”

“To peach the good lord’s word and bring salvation to all?” Geralt remarked in a sarcastic manner.

Thoros smirked, amused by the jesting before giving a small shrug. “Eh…more or less. Came here decades back late during Aery’s reign when he began his fire obsession. The priesthood saw him as someone favorable to covert and get a foothold here in the Kingdoms.” However he’d sigh, stirring his goblet about in one hand. “Turned out he was just bloody insane though. Then came the Rebellion…got caught up in a few battles and next thing I know I’ve become Robert’s drinking buddy.”

“Most drifter tales often go that way. I know the feeling well enough.”

“Glad you can relate!” The man chuckled, though his cheery smile faded slightly. “I’ll admit those years were tough. Between the difficultly of spreading the Lord of Light teachings and the…horrors of the Rebellion…well…even a man like me was shaken by it all.” He’d pause a bit, a serious look on his face. “Tell me. Do you plan to face Gregor, the Mountain, during the Melee?”

The sudden change of topic caught Geralt off guard, leaving him silent for a moment before nodding. “Yes.” He simply answered.

“Why if I may so ask?”

Again the Witcher paused, lightly picking at his food. “Because someone has to.”

The odd answer made Thoros tilt his head, expecting something more righteous as an answer. “What baffles me is why a stranger such as you cares. Gregor is little more than a force of destruction…a man none dare challenge out of fear.”

“Sadly that’s an emotion I’ve long lost.” It was a falsehood, Geralt did fear for others, mainly those he cared for yet when it came to his own wellbeing nothing fazed him. “Back in my homeland there was always some war or conflict going around. I’ve seen dozens of Gregors’ during my travels…men who take whatever they want through force and fear. The Mountain is simply a thug who was brutal and lucky enough to gain a false title. He may seem unstoppable…but all it takes is the right moves make that image crumble.”

For a moment Thoros was silent, making the Witcher wonder if he had shaken the man. However the priest gave a low chuckle before bursting out with a loud laugh. “Ah! I knew it…you have the Lord’s fire in you! The flame of fierce justice!”

The man’s outburst snapped Geralt out of his serious mood, blinking a bit in confusion. “Not sure what you’re getting at.”

“Surely you see it? You have a makings of a real champion of the Red God.”

By this point the Witcher understood what the man was getting at. He didn’t blame the priest for his actions, feeling it was no doubt his fervor that guided his words. “I appreciate the offer, I decline. Never been much of a believer in any faith considering past experiences…” He decided to exclude the violent purging the Eternal Flame had been doing all across Northern Realms.

“Ah…that is sad news…” Thoros glanced aside. “Perhaps in time you’ll consider hearing a bit of the Red God’s teachings and reconsider?”

“Doubtful.”

The priest sighed, giving a shrug before picking at the last of his food and gulping up his wine. “Either way you are a truly decent man Geralt, a rarity in this world.” Shifting to stand. “Course…that won’t stop me from giving that skull of yours a good cracking.” An eager grin crossed the priest’s face. “Another freedom of my order is we’re no pacifists, considering our duty to enforce justice and order.”

“None taken. Just don’t be surprised when you meet your match on the field.”

“Ha! I like that spirit! So blunt and confident!” Nodding, he’d pace away from the table. “Hold nothing back Geralt. Its time men like us show these knights how battle really is!” His loud voice had those mentioned knights around the pavilion glaring and muttering in annoyance. However Geralt understood the priest’s goal, trying to rile the men up with his remarks. “I’ll see you on the field Witcher! May the Lord’s light guide you!” With that he’d hurry out from the pavilion, escaping the men who seemed eager to brawl the red robed priest right then and there.

“Quite the eccentric…” Geralt muttered, shaking his head as he’d finish up his meal and leave the dining area. For now he’d stroll along the tents until reaching the practice grounds.

**…**

At the training field, knights and squires were busy training on dummies or sparring against each other. He’d hang back, watching casually as he’d note the different styles and stances used. However, his attention shifted to the familiar sight of white cloaks, as Jaime and Lord Commander Barristan were in the middle of a practice duel against each other. They seemed too distracted to notice the Witcher who watched from a distance, curious to see what the two renowned men were capable of.

Both knights moved about constantly as they fought, stepping forward whenever on the offense yet knowing the right time to back away when being countered. Their form was balanced, flexible in nature for any fight. However neither gained any real edge over the other, making Geralt curious at what this duel was building up to. Suddenly Jaime lunged in, grasping his sword in both hands as he’d strike with quick and powerful blows. The angle of every swing was calculated, aimed to guard himself while maintaining a constant attack.

Barristan however seemed unfazed by Jaime’s aggressive strikes, his own sword lashing out to clash with each strike the younger knight dealt. It was obvious from the tense look on Jaime’s face that the older knight had a lot of force behind each blow, even though he held his sword with one hand. Soon Jaime’s advance was halted as the two clashed blades constantly until Barristan forced Jaime into a sword lock. For a moment they struggled, the young knight dead set on outmatching his mentor, though Geralt could see how the Lord Commander’s stance shifted. At the last possible moment, he’d take a step back, withdrawing his blade from the sword lock when Jaime pressed forwarded more forcefully. Being caught off balance, Jaime’s guard was down for just a short second as he’d twist his body about in the middle of his stumble, the flat of his blade angled just to block his mentor’s slash at his side. Using the momentum of turning about, his left hand lashed out in a strike to force Barristan back and give himself a bit of breathing space. Barristan predicted the counter blow, just leaning back to avoid that armored fist by mere inches.

“Enough!” Barristan suddenly declared, his voice have an aged quality with a wise commanding tone to it as well. “Very well done Jaime. You’ve been matching up quite well.”

“I’d prefer to be exceeding sir.” Jaime sighed, sheathing his blade before giving a small smirk. “All these years and I still can’t strike you. Do I have to spend another half of my life to accomplish that?”

“Heh…I’ll be little more than dust and memories by then.” The Lord Commander sheathed his own sword before stepping up to Jaime, placing a hand on his shoulder. “You’re still young and have a long life ahead of you. Your talent is astounding, but never be complacent…always test and push yourself.” The man glanced back over his shoulder, sharp gaze looking to where Geralt stood.

By this point the Witcher approach them, drawing Jaime’s attention as well. “Hope you didn’t mind me watching.”

“Not at all Ser Geralt.” Barristan answered back as he turned to face him and offer up a hand to shake. “If anything I’m glad to at last have a chance to meet you. I do apologize for not greeting you sooner at the Red Keep. I’ve been busy with my duties.”

The Witcher shook the lord knight’s hand, being surprise at strong grip he had. “No worries. Been just as tied up with my own errands.” At this point, he’d glance to Jaime. “Like to say you did well during the joust yesterday. Was a close match.

“Close doesn’t change the fact that it was a loss…still thank you for the praise.” Jaime replied, tone being an odd mix of his sarcastic nature and knightly formalness. “I can say you were impressive yesterday as well. The arrow trick seemed a bit over the top…not all that practical though it has it’s uses.” Pausing for a moment, he’d smirk a bit. “That aside though, I didn’t think you’d be that mad to charge the Mountain like that.”

“Battle instinct. Hard not to step in when I saw Ser Loras in trouble.”

“Still mad considering...”

“Yet brave and honorable as well.” Barristan interrupted, glancing at Jaime. “I’ll admit few would dare face against Gregor…even I’ll admit that the man would be an imposing challenge. Men fear such fearsome power and reputation, which are powerful weapons in battle.”

Jaime seemed thoughtful on his mentor’s words, his gaze shifting between the Lord Commander and Witcher. “Thoughtful words Ser Selmy. However I feel its time I got rest and prepare for the Melee. If anything my brother informed me of some unexpected changes to the rules…troublesome news really.” He’d look to Geralt, giving a small nod to him. “I’ll see you out on the field Geralt. I expect to fully see what you’re capable of.” With that he’d walk off from the training grounds and disappear into the maze of tents.

**…**

Barristan lightly shook his head and sighed. “So gifted, yet this overconfidence hinders him. I wonder when he gained such a mindset.”

“It’s his age. Seen it dozens of times over my travels and from my adopted daughter when I trained her. Still has it to a degree.”

“Heh…a fair point. Thinking back I was very much the same when I was young. Time and tribulations have hardened my resolve ever since.” The King’s Guard Commander began to walk forward, heading back into the camp ground while Geralt followed alongside.

“He has great potential…as do a lot of other young men I’ve met during my travels here.” The Witcher remarked.

“When they hear tales of men like Arthur Dayne and King Robert during the Rebellion, they strive to surpass them. When you and I pass on, our lives will be remembered and in turn be an inspiration for the later generations.”

“Deep words Ser Selmy. For me though I plan to live as long as possible…may see if a Witcher can die in a bed than at the end of a sword or claws of a beast.”

“Can’t deny such aspirations.” Selmy chuckled. “You seem to live a free life considering, having traveled so far to our humble country.”

“Came here more by chance really…following my daughter.”

“Ah yes…the Red Keep has had rumors drifting about your tale. I’ll admit it sounds a bit fantastical with the talk of ancient bloodlines and empires.”

“Same could be said of how a bunch of Kingdoms were conquered by highborn noble and his sisters riding dragons.”

“True enough. We have those beasts’ skulls in the cellars to prove that they existed at least.” The knight laughed. “However I feel you are misleading us all with your story.”

Geralt was silent as the man looked at him, those eye having such a sharp inquisitive quality to them as Selmy tried to read the Witcher’s reaction. “I think you’re misunderstand.”

“Perhaps…call it just an old man’s instinct. I’m not suggesting you have any evil intent, no doubt you do so out of personal secrecy.”

“It’s more complicated than that Ser.” Geralt sighed. “Maybe one day I may tell you…although if you’ll believe it will be another matter.” He did feel that Selmy was indeed trustworthy, perhaps being more relatable with his older age and experience.

“It be an interesting chat for certain.” Soon the group neared the royal tent, no doubt to follow his duties in guarding the King. “Still over an hour until the Melee begins. Perhaps you wish to speak with King Robert, considering he has been constantly speaking about you since yesterday.”

Before Geralt could give an answer, the King’s loud voice spoke out from within the tent. “Your mother was a dumb whore with a fat ass, did you know that?!”

Both Geralt and Barristan looked at each other with confusion as they quickened their pace to approach the tent, noticing someone else slip inside just ahead of them. The just as baffled guards let them through to reveal a quite odd scene. Ned had been the one to enter the tent before them, the man having a small look of amusement on his face as he stared at his old friend. Robert was in a mixed set of cloth and leather clothes, fitting garb for wearing under armor. A blond haired squire was struggling to clasp a breastplate across the large man’s chest, struggling mainly with his round belly and wide sides keeping the armor apart. The boy seemed embarrassed, no doubt from the King’s insult as he’d back away, tugging the breastplate off Robert and standing meekly aside.

“Look at this idiot! One ball and no brains! Can’t even put a man’s armor on him properly!” Robert snapped out, making the squire shift shyly about.

Geralt sighed and shook his head while Barristan muttering low under his breath. “I getting too old for this.” The remark drawing a chuckle from Geralt.

Ned crossed his arms after hearing his friend’s angry words. “It’s because you’re too fat for your armor.”

“Fat?!” Robert, had a hint of anger show on his face as he’d step forward a bit. “Fat is it? Is that how you speak to your King?”

Eddard was silent, glancing down slightly before giving a small questioning look at his old friend. In the end Robert couldn’t help give a low chuckle, drawing one from Ned as well. Even the page gave a small laugh although the King gave a stern look to silence. Before he could snap out at the lad, he’d notice Geralt and Barristan standing by the entrance out. “Anyway you heard the Hand. The armor too small…so…” He’d pause, the squire giving a blank stare of confusion. “…the breastplate spreader! Go get it!”

The squire snapped to attention, glancing about in a hurry before nodding. He’d spring out of the tent, making both Geralt and Selmy quickly step aside to avoid the lad. “Pretty sure there are no such devices your Grace.” The Witcher remarked, dry sarcasm in his words.

“Heh and that’s the point.” Robert chuckled as he moved to a nearby cabinet to get a wine decanter and multiple glasses for everyone. “He’s short witted for a Lannister, but Cersei insisted I take him in. No doubt to toughen him up.” With all the glasses filled, he’d pick one up and take a deep drink from it before gesturing to the rest to take a glass.

“Rather not sure. I am on duty after all.” Selmy remarked.

“And I’m not that thirsty you’re Grace.” Eddard added.

Geralt though shrugged, guessing a little wine wouldn’t hurt after the large meal he had. Stepping up, he picked a glass before taking a drink, Robert giving a grin. “Heh, Geralt understands. Never a wrong time to enjoy a glass, much less before a battle!”

“Mgh…strong stuff considering.” Geralt remarked as he looked at the deep red wine. “Also what do you mean? You make it sound like you’re about to join the Melee.”

“Cersei picked it out last night. Woman maybe frustrating at times but she has a damn good taste in wine!” Robert answered. “And of course! Been far too long since I’ve been in a brawl…and after yesterday’s matches I just have an urge to hit something!”

Everyone else in the room glanced at each other, all having concerned looks while Robert gulped down his wine, finishing the glass and already working on refilling it.

“And who’s going to hit you back?” Eddard suddenly spoke up, making Robert glance to his friend.

“Anyone who can.”

“There isn’t a man in the Seven Kingdoms who’d risk hurting you. You know that.”

For a moment Geralt shifted, half tempted to raise a hand to show otherwise. Course he knew better then to do that, although he did speak up. “I feel Lord Stark worries that you may get badly hurt. The Melee is no joke after all…”

“That’s the bloody point! I need some real action after all these years, up close and personal!”

Suddenly Geralt, lunged at Robert, his yellow eyes having a sudden fierceness in them. For a moment the King was caught off guard yet held his ground as the Witcher got up close, right hand swinging out up for the side of Robert’s head. His fingers snapped sharply at the King’s ear, surprising the man as he’d flinch and shift away by reaction. With that glass of wine already dulling his senses and movement, the man nearly tripped on his own two feet, making him brace one hand to the nearby cabinet.

“That’s why. Your nearly drunk sire. Doubt you’d be able to stay on your horse during even march.” The Witcher stated, before noticing Barristan tense stance, hand gripping the hilt of his sword firmly. Geralt had to admit the man was fast for his age and knew Selmy could have easily drawn his weapon at a moment’s notice. Eddard gave a sigh while shaking his head, though seemed glad the Witcher had put some sense into his old friend.

“Ugh…bloody fast you are…” He muttered before glancing at his wine glass, growling lowly before setting it aside on the cabinet top. “…and damn right as well…I’d be an embarrassment…” Glancing at Selmy, he’d sigh seeing the experienced knight still at the ready. “Relax Selmy. If the Witcher wanted me dead he’d had done it a hundred times since we’ve first met.”

Barristan simply nodded as he’d relax his grip on his blade. “Reflex your Grace. Hard to not react so suddenly.”

Eddard at last would speak up. “Perhaps you can watch by horse or on the sidelines instead of from the stands? At the least be closer to the battle.”

Robert sighed, thinking for a moment. “Guess it be best choice. Fine then…” He’d move to the nearby wardrobe as he began to shift through the many fine royal clothes. “However I expect a damn good fight…especially from you Witcher!”

“Gladly your grace.” Geralt muttered as he’d move aside for the flap out of the tent, stopping before Selmy to give a respectful nod to the man. If anything that short moment of tension had the Witcher feel a deeper respect for the man, knowing he was bold and capable to possibly challenging him.

“Wait for me outside Geralt. I’ll be out in a moment.” Eddard added before the Witcher left.

Outside, Geralt sighed as he’d pace around in the shady. Already he could hear the overall camp become lively as everyone was awake. No doubt the crowds would arrive soon and settle in around the Melee field for the battle. As he glanced around, he’d notice the towering shape of Gregor stepping out of Pycelle’s tent. Quickly, he slipped into the deeper shade of the King’s tent to avoid the giant’s gaze as the man looked about with a tensed expression on his face. Gregor winced as he had one hand grasp at the side of his head, seeming to be in pain. Lifting up a large bottle full of a milky white fluid, he’d take a deep drink from it, giving out a deep sigh as it seemingly ease whatever pain he had been feeling. He’d soon move on, stomping off for his tent to equip himself for the battle ahead.

“Hmm…gigantism does have its draw backs…” Geralt muttered as he’d step out of hiding, just as Eddard left the royal tent. The man gave a small nod for the Witcher to follow, already leading the way back to Geralt’s tent.

“Bold move doing that, but a smart one.” Eddard remarked after a moment of silent walking.

“Robert is a man of action, so I simply spoke his language.”

“Heh, a cunning move considering. Bet I’d have spent an hour just arguing with him.”

“I think your idea having him watch up close helped a lot. He didn’t complain after that.”

“Aye…he didn’t.”

By now the two reached Geralt’s tent, yet as they neared it the Witcher stopped as he could hear someone moving around inside. He’d make a small gesture for Ned to be quiet before he’d slip through the tent flap, one hand reaching slightly for his swords if needed. He’d quickly realize that his intruder was simply Davos who was checking around the quite bare tent.

“Snooping around captain?”

The sailor gave a small gasp and turned about, giving a sigh when he saw it was Geralt. “Seven Geralt…anyone tell you not to surprise people like that.” He’d muttered.

The Witcher just smirked and shrugged as he’d step fully into the tent, Eddard following in. Seeing Lord Stark, Davos gave a short respectful bow before offering a hand out. “Ah Lord Stark! It’s an honor to at last meet you.”

Eddard gave a small smile as the two shook hands. “I take you’re Davos Seaworth. Geralt has told me a bit about you, how you’re trader and lord serve under Lord Stannis. How has he been of late?”

“Very busy considering his work on the new fleet. Been spending months sailing between every port across Westeros and Essos just to get the supplies needed.” Yet before he could say more there be a sudden trumpeting, the signal for everyone to gather at the Melee field. “Ah but we can chat on the matter later.”

“Of course.” Ned looked to Geralt. “You sure you’re ready for this?”

The Witcher smirked, noting Eddard’s troubled look. “I was made to fight Ned. If anything I’m eager to cut loose for once.”

“Just don’t overdo it. A lot of those knights are honest men…even if they will be fighting just as fiercely.” Turning to leave, he’d stop just before leaving the tent to glance back. “Give Gregor hell though. Time he pay for his vile actions…and give a few people some peace of mind.” With that he’d leave the tent, Davos following close behind, giving a small grin of confidence to the Witcher before he left.

Now alone, Geralt took a moment to take a deep breath, closing his eyes as he composed himself. It had been a long while since he had been in a real battle, much less mass combat. While he could use his sword skills more fully, he knew he’d have to pull some strikes else he’d easily cripple some of the knights even with their heavier armor. Once more the trumpet sounded, making the Witcher open his eyes as he was now ready, as he’d gather Roach’s horse armor, knowing his mount needed much protection as possible. As he shifted through the chest, he’d notice something tucked away behind it, a wooden pole and a greyed piece of cloth. Reaching around to grasp the cloth, he’d pick it up and fold it to reveal it was a banner, the symbol being that of snarling face of the Wolf Medallion with a looming keep in the background, the shadow of Kaer Morhen.

“Heh…not bad.” He think back to Tyrion’s question about the Witcher needing a banner, being quite insistent on the matter. While he had been reluctant, seeing the finished banner did bring a welcoming feeling, a reminder of returning home. He wondered for a moment what Eskal and Lambert would think about the banner, no doubt joke to high hell about every detail about it. Grabbing banner, he’d get it set on the pole before heading outside with it along with Roach’s armor as well.

Striding out of his tent, he’d go to the nearby horse trough where he had Roach tied by. Working on getting the armor strapped across the mare’s sides, flank and head he’d mutter to her. “Not feeling nervous Roach? Been a while since we’ve been in a fight together.”

The mare seemed to huff in some understand, head shaking a bit in what he guessed was a no.

“Good. If you can face down a wyvern without an issue, I doubt a few knights will spook you.” Patting her head, he’d quickly pull himself onto the comfortable saddle, holding his banner with one hand while guiding Roach between the encampments of tents.

**…**

Soon the Melee Field was in sight where already half of the knights were gathered up, all mounted and holding high their personal or House banners. Geralt had Roach pace about looking for a good spot, until noticed Loras among the lineup. Moving up to be at his right, he’d give a small nod to the young and lavishly armored knight. “Doing alright today Ser Loras?”

“Just a sore pride after yesterday’s jousting tumble.” He’d chuckle back. “I’ll admit the Melee isn’t my favored event, yet I feel I need to strive harder today…show everyone the Tyrells are capable on the field.”

“Confidence like that can overcome much. I’m certain you’ll do well.”

Loras nodded before the trumpet was blown a third time, signaling that the event was to begin. Quickly glancing along the line he’d recognized Gregor, Sandor and Jaime among the other knights. He’d notice a few men from yesterday were missing…discounting Hugh who was very much deceased. By his count, there was only forty now with himself included.

Everyone waited tensely for a moment until from around the stand, Robert and Tyrion rode out with Eddard and Barristan following close behind them. The King and dwarf paced along the line up of knights and warrior, Robert seeming to closely examine them up close with a stern judging gaze. Soon the group stopped at front center of the grouped warriors.

“All of you are some of the greatest warriors and knights Westeros has to offer. Men with unmatched skill, strength and spirit. Many of you shown off such qualities yesterday at the joust and archery match…yet here the Melee will truly test you!” Robert’s voice had such a commanding strength to it, almost as if he was readying them for war. “However, I think a few of you have become soft…” The sudden criticism had a few of the men glanced around, confused at their King’s words. “Many of you depend on the advantage of having a mount, giving you the speed and defense to best nearly any foe. Sometimes though you won’t have that luxury and will have to rely on nothing more than your own two feet.”

As if to make the point, he’d shift about on his saddle and drop off the side. Ned gave quite shocked look as his friend landed firmly on his feet, a low wince just escaping the unfit King, although he did well to hide the discomfort. At the least it showed he had sobered up enough to recover some sense of balance.

“Ser Loras reminded me of this. If a knight becomes helpless once dismounted then he may as well be a helpless babe!” Loras shifted in his seat, glancing away in embarrassment as a few chuckles escaped from the crowd. “So that’s why this Melee we’re changing the usual rules. No horses…no lances…just mace, sword and shield!”

Already a few of the knights muttered, a few seeming unsure of this sudden changes. Geralt saw this as a surprising blessing since now he wouldn’t have to deal with dangerous lances most of the men had planned to use. Already he noticed Thoros grinning, seeming pleased at this new turn of events. While he had won a few matches in the joust, Geralt knew the Red Priest preferred more up close and personal duels then those behind a lance.

“After some insistence from his Grace, the original rules I had planned have been…considerable altered.” From how it sounded, Tyrion seemed annoyed that his plans had been changed since he had no doubt spent a long time creating them. “While we have fewer men competing we will still start the Melee with two teams. Lucky we have an even amount…unless anyone has any second thoughts?” No one spoke or moved to leave, no doubt not wanting to look cowardly. “Good…that makes my job easier. Overall the rules are simple. No horses will be used in this battle. You are free to use any weapons of your choice…except for you Ser Gregor.

The giant knight gave a confused grunt from under his helmet, before an annoyed growl. “Why is that dwarf?” He demanded.

“This dwarf is still the master of the games. Speaking out of line doesn’t help your cause Ser Gregor…so disobey and I’ll have you marched off the field, in chains if needed!” Tyrion spoked sternly, surprising many at his sharp warning to the Mountain. “Your history of death at tournaments is well known, as we saw yesterday. If anything I’d rather have you far off at your Keep then remaining here. However your King has decided to give you one chance. You will fight with a blunted sword, little more than a practice blade. You’ll need not worry for it is the size and weight is what you prefer using in battle. At the least you won’t be easily lopping off limbs, yet if you do go out of your way to kill or cripple anyone then we’ll see that you face the King’s Justice…is that clear?”

Again the Mountain growled, hand gripping the reins of his horse tightly, tugging them back that his new warhorse whined in discomfort. “Clear…my lord.” He muttered through clenched teeth.

“Wonderful. Glad we’ve came to an understanding.” At this point Geralt felt Tyrion was testing how far he could toy with the Mountain, making him wonder if the dwarf was that fearless or just confident his rank protected him. “The usual rules of the Melee apply. When first blood is drawn from cut or blow you or you are disarmed, you are to yield to your opponent and leave the field. We will have spotters to ensure no cheating or foul play is done, though I believe all of you will avoid such unfairness. When half the contestants have been bested, a horn will sound which will signal the free for all between all survivors. Any teamwork will be of convenience or alliance. You will be allowed to trade more blows during this half of the battle with being disarmed still considered a defeat.” He’d pause for a moment to let all the details sink in. “If there are no questions then choose a side of the field and leave your horses behind. We have extra weapons set in your respective camps if you require any. Besides that I wish all of you the Sevens fortunes and an honorable battle.”

With that, Tyrion gave a short bow from his horse while the gathered knights quickly broke away from the line. Gregor was quick to go to the northern end of the field and amusingly many others quickly followed after him. No doubt they felt safer having him on their side, at least until the latter half of the Melee if they survived. Jaime and Thoros headed off to the northern end as well while Geralt, Sandor and Loras moved to the south end.

Geralt glanced at the Hound, a scarred man keeping his gaze set before him with a serious look in his eyes. He didn’t say anything to Sandor, not wanting to annoy or distract him before the battle. Once everyone had arrived at the camp, they’d dismount and tie their horses up at the temporary stables that had been set up for them. A few of the knights moved to the nearby weapon racks, checking over a selection of weapons ranking from spears, maces and swords of all sizes. Loras was among the group as he’d eye a few weapons, picking out a heavy mace for himself which he hefted up quite easily. Despite the pretty face and slim build he was stronger than he looked.

The Witcher didn’t need any others weapons, feeling his steel and silver sword along with the Dragon Fang would be more than enough for the Melee. Standing at the edge of the camp, he’d calmly wait as the rest of his team prepared themselves. His eyes closed as he’d calm his mind, entering a light meditation to ready himself.

“Praying now? Didn’t think you the type.” Sandor gruffly spoke, snapping Geralt to attention.

“Was meditating.” He’d bluntly answer back.

“If you say so.” From the Hound’s tone he seemed to care considering. “Let’s get one thing straight here. Gregor is mine to kill…not yours you hear?”

“Who said anything about killing?”

“Heh! That is rich coming from you.” Sandor laughed. “I saw the look in your eyes when you faced against him. You’d have cut him down at that moment if you had the chance. The eyes of a killer.”

Geralt was silent, making the Hound give a grim chuckle  
.  
“Being quiet about it? Trying to deny what you are.”

“No…but I don’t boast about it like others.”

Sandor’s gaze narrowed. “Whatever. Point is keep away from Gregor. Only chance I may to get to get back at the bastard.”

By now the rest of the knights were gathering up, forming a line for the coming march onto the field. Off in the distance the other team did the same and even from here Geralt could see the giant Clegane in the distance. Made sense why they called him the Mountain.

“Then best of luck.” Geralt simply answered back to Sandor just before the signal horn was blown. “Try not to lose too quickly.” Drawing his steel blade, he’d already step forward as everyone began to walk onto the field, going at a slow pace for the moment.

Sandor was quick to follow, catching up to the front of the group where Geralt was. Slowly the distance between the two teams shortened and in turn their pace picked up. Soon everyone was at a quick march as both groups neared. By now Geralt was able pick out the other notable fighters on the other team, Jaime who was following close behind the Mountain, armed with a fine sword and an ornate reinforced heater shield with the front stylized with a roaring lion’s head. Thoros was also among the leading warriors, a wide eager grin on his face as he quickly noticed Geralt.

“Witcher! I knew you’d be at the lead!” He yelled out loudly. “Yes…no fear or hesitation!” Glancing about at the knights, he’d rise his sword up. “Watch and learn men! This is how you start a proper battle!” Suddenly he’d burst into a charge, giving a fierce and quite intimidating battle cry. Some of the younger knights on the Witcher’s side flinched, while the men of the priest’s side seemed rallied. The Mountain gave his own roar as he and the others joined the charge.

Geralt’s glance at the other knights, sensing the nervous tension they had. “No backing out. Face them head on!” He yelled out before facing the enemy. With a growl he’d rush forward, showing his inhuman speed for that short sprint ahead.

Loras nodded in agreement. “Geralt is right! Show no fear! We are the knights of Westeros and we back down to no one, not even our own!” He’d close his visor down before he’d charge as well, trying to catch up with the Witcher.

“Don’t need you to tell me that damn flower boy!” Sandor cursed out as he too rushed forward and in turn the rest of the men did the same.

For a long moment the air was filled with the stomp of armored feet and fierce yells. In the end both groups met, with the leading warriors clashing first. Jaime and Loras striked at each other, shields up to ward off the opening attack. Sandor and Gregor roared out as their massive swords clashed, sparks flying for a short moment as the weapons roughly dragged against each other in the blade lock. Geralt and Thoros slashed at the same time, counter acting each other’s attack with a resounding clang.

Soon everyone else locked in combat as the battle truly began. Men traded blows, often guarding them with shield or their weapons. No one was wounded at first, showing how well trained even the newest knights were. Everyone had chosen an opponent, leading to fierce duels all across the field.

Geralt was too caught up fighting Thoros to focus on Loras and Jaime’s fight, yet could see the two towering Cleganes striking at each other. Sandor proved to have more swordsmanship as he blocked and dodged about, although Gregor proved to be shocking agile even with all that plate and chain armor covering him.

“Don’t get distracted Witcher!” Thoros yelled as he’d step up, grasping the front of Geralt’s leather jacket piece as he’d pull the Witcher forward and spinning him about in a disorienting throw. While caught off guard by the moment, Geralt moved along with the throw as he’d drop into a tumble to avoid falling over, standing up just as Thoros stabbed at him. He’d parry at the last moment to stagger the priest back before he’d side step around and counter attack at the priest’s side, yet the large man proved to be reckless as instead of dodging away then step forward in a shoulder tackle.

“Crazy old man” Geralt muttered, having nearly stabbed the man by accident. Thoros just laughed as he’d moved boldly forward, swinging his sword broadly out with each stride as if challenging the Witcher to attack back. A normal warrior would go on the defensive, try to back off or find a prime chance to counter, but the Witcher did the opposite. He’d strike back as both blades clashed again and again, meeting force with force. Both men held their ground, though Thoros was began to pant heavily while Geralt hardly seemed winded despite the constant attacking.

Just as Geralt was about to lash out at the priest, he heard someone yell out behind him. His arm and body turned about as he’d parry aside a mace from striking at his back, surprising the knight who had thought him an easy target. The Witcher didn’t stop there as he’d duck to the right side of the man, avoiding a shield bash before he’d cut at the knight’s exposed side, going across the least armored spot along it. The man yelled in pain as the fine Witcher sword sliced through whatever under armor and clothing that was under the plate, drawing thick blood with one slash. Grasping his side, the man backed off as he lowered his mace. “I yield!” He hissed out yet Geralt hardly listened as already another warrior stepped forward to challenge.

Thoros also was ambushed, the Red Priest giving a roaring battle cry that had the knight running away, who he chased after laughing like a maniac. “This isn’t over Witcher! Don’t lose just yet!” He yelled out. By now a few of the other knights had been bested and now began to target others, a few focusing on men still dueling another. A few got blindsided by a mace to the head or cut to an exposed spot, leading to curses and yells for ‘yield!’.

With the Red Priest long gone, it gave him time to catch his breath while taking down a few knights on his own, using his more wild and usual tactics to outmatch them. For the Witcher he put his mutant speed and reflexes to full use as he’d weave and dodge attacks from all sides before sneaking in a solid slash be it to the side, back of the leg or with a powerful strike with the flat of his blade knock their weapon from their grasp. In time, the men started to realize that the Witcher had taken down three men on his own in just a matter of minutes.

“Surround Ser Geralt! Outmatch him while we can!” Someone yelled out. Quickly the Witcher realized a six knights had surrounded him, seeming to have formed an alliance just to take him as early as possible. Geralt held his ground, cat eyes glancing fiercely at the grouped-up knights.

“Best back off now. You’ll need twice the numbers to make this a challenge.” He calmly stated, sword up as he took a defensive stance.

Someone from the side gave an angry yell before charging, soon getting a back-hand blow to the face, knocked him off balance. The young man didn’t stand a chance as the Witcher quickly disarmed him, flat of his sword striking hard enough at his arm to drive a pained howl from him as he probably got a fracture wrist from how strong the strike even against plate armor.

Two knights moved in this time, not making the same mistake yelling out during their attack. Geralt anticipated their coordinated attack, using his inhuman speed to ducked under a stab and followed into a roll to avoid a sweeping mace. Using the momentum and his agility, he’d spring back onto his feet then twist about to slash across backs of both men, drawing shocked cries as his sharp blade cut through their armor.”

“Guh…what…what kind of weapon is that?!” One gasped as they’d struggle away, dropping their weapons as they surrendered.

“It’s like valyrian steel…” Another muttered as Geralt again took a defensive stance, keeping such a calm look still despite the still being surrounded.

By now the group of warriors were hesitant, unsure of how to face Witcher whose speed and strength were unlike anything they had seen. A few nervously shifted back whenever his yellow gaze focused on them, worried he’d rush them and cut them down in moments. In the end though their resolve returned as all three rushed at him, trying a combined attack.

The trio were all uniquely armed with one having a shield and mace, another a two-handed sword and the last with just a long sword. The one with the shield was up first, lunging in shield up to block Geralt’s opening attack before he’d stab out. The Witcher hated dealing with shields since direct attacks never worked, requiring more agile tactics to counter. If anything he’d use an Igni to burn or overheat the shield off, yet he obviously couldn’t do that. The long sword knight moved to flank him, trying to trap the Witcher between him and the shielded warrior. Both men attacked at once, yet Geralt was quick to adapt as he parry the swordman’s blade to stagger him back before twisting about to just dodge the other’s stabbing sword. The unshielded knight yelled as he got stabbed by his ally, making him curse out gripping at the light wound at his side.

By this point the man with the two-handed sword rushed in to try and draw Geralt’s attention as he’d slash at the Witcher from behind. With the shield man limiting his movements, Geralt rolled to the side to avoid the crashing blade, then quickly stood up to lunge at man with the great sword. He barely blocked the incoming attack and was forced onto the defensive. The large weapon didn’t offer much defense against Geralt’s rapid attacks and he had no way to counterattack. The shielded knight followed after them, giving a yell as he gave an overhead swing to draw at the Witcher.

However instead of turning his blade about to block it, he’d move his left arm out to have the strong Stark bracer block the blow. It did draw a grunt from him, the armor piece absorbed the hit well. Shoving his arm back, he’d force the shieldbearer back, leaving his guard expose for a powerful kick. The force behind it had him fall back a few feet as Geralt’s mutant strength showed off for a moment. With one knight knocked down, he’d focus back on the one with the great sword as he’d duck under a diagonal slash, slipping around one side and strike the flat of his blade against the man’s knee, forcing him down onto it. Before the knight knew it, his left arm was grabbed and twisted back along with the Witcher’s blade pressing to his neck.

“I yield!” The man gasped out as he dropped his sword, unable to swing that far behind him, much less being in a painful arm hold. The man was shoved forward as Geralt wordlessly rushed to the other knight who was busy struggling back up. He tried to get his shield raised only for it to be pinned down under the Witcher’s boot. Before he could even try bashing out with his mace, the young warrior soon had sharp steel pointed at his face and those yellow eyes starting fiercely at him.  
“I surrender…” He muttered, giving a sigh as Geralt backed off. Just then a signal horn blew out, a sign that half the warriors were bested by now.

“Huh that was quicker than expected.” Geralt muttered before noticing another group of six were already surrounding him. He’d recognize a few from his team even as everyone realized just how dangerous he was. “This is more like it.” He’d give a small grin, which was a bit unnerving to men. This time all six attacked, not holding back in an all-out attack. With adrenaline pumping through him, Geralt just let instinct take hold as push himself to the limit. He was a blur of movement as he’d weave and dodge between everyone, misdirecting attacks towards other knights or having them overreach themselves.

Soon one by one they were getting picked off as Geralt slipped his blade past their defenses and armor, landing multiple cuts, kicks, punches and pommel blows until they gave up. However as he clashed with the third remanding knight, a familiar yell came off to the side. “Back off! The Witcher is mine!” Thoros loudly declared, grabbing and turning about one young knight who had lost his helmet during the battle. The unfortunate man got a powerful head butt to the forehead, making his eyes roll back before falling roughly back. While the priest seemed daze for a moment, the knight was out cold, making the man laugh out.

“Not as tough as they look heh?” The priest looked roughed up, his red robe covered with dirt and blade

Geralt ignored Thoros as he focused on defeating his currently opponent who’d he quickly disarm with a strong parry and a spinning strike to the hand with the flat of his blade. Cursing lowly, the warrior backed off while he could as already the Red Priest stomped forward for a second match against the Witcher.

“Is your Red God going to hand you victory priest?” Geralt jested in a dry yet serious manner.  
The priest shook his head. “The future isn’t set in stone…yet I have glimpsed it fires.” He’d step forward, arms out and sword held high. “For these last years I’ve questioned my faith…numbing that doubt in drink and battle. I thought today would be just the same, yet yesterday the flames showed me this moment.”  
The Witcher was silent, wondering what the man was getting at with his so called vision of his.  
“Faith is a powerful thing Witcher. Today it has been restored within me!” The man held his sword out as his left hand touched at base of his blade as suddenly flames shot up across the metal. Holding the flaming weapon high, the nearby men gasped out in shock, confused at what just happened. “Behold! The Lord of Light share his blessing this day!”  
Surprise hinted the Witcher’s face, not expecting this sudden claim. He heard how in the past the priest used wildfire, an alchemy mixture that was very resistant to water, in certain battles such as the Ironborn Rebellion. The flames of wildfire were green, while the flames around the sword were a fierce red. His medallion even shook fiercely for a moment, hinting of a strong magical power behind that burning weapon.

“Well Thoros…you have my full attention now.” Geralt muttered. “Let’s see if your faith will give you victory!”

The red priest smiled widely as he’d roar out, making the surrounding knights flinch back in shock as he’d rush forward. Like before, he and Geralt’s blade clashed, the runes along the steel sword glowing as they reacted to the enchanted flames of Thoros sword. The man seemed to have a surge of strength about him as he’d forced Geralt one then two steps back, pressing his burning weapon closer to the Witcher’s face. Up close the heat of the fire was intense, much like the ones created by Igni.

“Yield Witcher! I rather not burn you…” Thoro threatened, his eyes wild with fierce fanaticism.

Geralt growled out, body tensing up as he put the full force of his mutant strength forward. He’d shove back, driving that burning blade away from his face and give him enough freedom to back step from a sweeping slash. The Red Priest kept up the attack as he did wide swings, making nearby warriors hurry away to avoid flaring embers of his sword. Geralt kept backing up, dealing back counter blows at the same time as he matched force with force. Sparks flew as both magically empowered weapons clashed, ringing clank of metal echoing across the field.

If anything the battle drew attention as the men stopped to watch the epic clash, unable to believe someone could match up to Thoro’s inhuman ferocity. Like before the man began to tire from the constant attacks, unable to break Geralt’s defense and dodging speed. At this point the Witcher decided to end this as he’d leap back to avoid an overhead strike, only to lunge in with a downward slash of his own. Thoro’s eyes widened, yet it wasn’t fear or shock only an amazed realization as if he had expected this.

He quickly raised his burning blade up to ward off the blow, giving a strained grunt as the power behind the Witcher’s attack forced him to one knee. Sparks flew about from the clashing blades, Geralt not hesitating as he swung at the man’s left, aiming for the neck. Thoros had little energy and time left to defend himself as he tilted the burning sword about, just enough to guard but also flinging the weapon from his grip. The flaming sword flew overhead, a few observant knights being quick to duck aside as it neared them.

Thoros fully dropped onto both knees, panting hard as the Witcher’s steel sword pressed to his neck, bringing a pleased grin to his face. “Glorious…you are truly unmatched…” The man chuckled between breaths while Geralt kept that calm expression.

“You knew this would happen didn’t you?”

“Yes. The fire did not lie, even if the outcome was a bit unclear. Visions can be that way..” Thoros bowed his head, smirking. “You are indeed chosen. No matter your belief is Witcher, you have grand part in the Lord’s plan!”

Geralt didn’t answer. He hated the talk of prophecies, even more when given by clerics and religious fanatics.

“Yet your battle isn’t done. For you have a Mountain topple and a Lion to humble.”

**…**

As if on cue, Geralt heard a surprised yell off to the side, making him and the other surviving knights’ glance over to the right. Thoros burning sword had landed just between Sandor and Gregor, blade embedded into the dirt. The two had seemingly been locked in personal battle for most of the Melee, being equally matched. Sandor still wore his hound helmet which hid his face, yet from the way he tensed up around the burning sword hinted a fear for the flames coming off the weapon.

Gregor however was unfazed as he’d howl out, snapping Sandor out of that fearful state as his brother swung his blunted blade up. The Hound quickly raised his own large sword up, bracing himself for the powerful blow. He partly blocked the strike as the blunted sword broke his guard and uppercut his helmet, knocking it off his head and drawing a painful crack to the scarred man’s jaw. He’d tumble to the ground, panting and growling from the pain, struggling to get up as his brother loomed over him.

“You’ve become weak Sandor. A little fire had you cowering.” Gregor mocked as he pointed to the sword just as the fire covering it sputtered out. “Should just kill you…put such disgrace aside…”

“Then do it you bastard!” Sandor cursed out, suddenly turning about to swing his sword up at the towering knight. Gregor caught Sandor’s arm with one large hand stopped the attack with ease. Despite his toughness and strong armor, Sandor yelled in pain as the gauntlet on his forearm was being crumbled under that powerful grasp. Soon the Hound was forced to let go of his sword, unable to stop the brutal disarming.

“Nah…killing you be boring. You at least give me a challenge whenever you get the balls to face me.” The Mountain laughed under his helmet while Sandor howled as his metal bracer started to dent under the unhuman grip, starting to crush the man’s arm. “A broken arm should do…”

“Let him go.”

Gregor snapped his head up, glancing to the left to see who had spoken up to him. He’d see Geralt standing nearby, those yellow eyes staring unblinking at him.

“You again? You have a habit butting in when unwanted…” The Mountain growled.

“Let Sandor go Gregor. You’ve bested him.”

“Shut up Witcher! I don’t need you-uggh!” Sandor bit back the pain as his brother squeezed harder down at the forearm, ready to snap it on a moment’s notice.

“He may be a failure, but he’s right Witcher. This doesn’t involve you…”

“Maybe so…” Geralt stepped forward, sword up at the ready. “Yet the Melee is still going and no one seems eager to fight either of us.” Indeed the lingering knights were either battling each other or just watching in shock at what was happening before them, as Geralt directly challenging the fearsome giant. “You’re nothing more than a child murder and rapist. A coward who relies on fear and brutality to have their way. I’m not afraid of you…if anything even the most pathetic nekker is more fearsome then you.”

“Nekker?!....What the fuck is a nekker?!” Gregor snarled before roughly let go of Sandor’s arm. He’d following it up with a strong kick the fallen man’s side, knocking the Hound a few feet aside and stunning him. Standing tall, he’d hold up his giant sword with one hand, giving an angered growl under his barreled helmet. “Stupid freak…forget the rules. I’ll break you in half. See how righteous you are when your dead!” He’d heft up his blunted great sword high, roaring out as he’d swing it down at Geralt’s neck. The attack was fast with the strength in those arms and weight of the weapon, no doubt being powerful enough to knock someone’s head off. For the Witcher though the attack was slow as he’d glance at the nearing blade, ducking under it at the last second before shuffling to the left side of the giant.

The powerful left swing made the giant of a man unbalanced, not expecting the Witcher to be agile enough to avoid such a sudden attack. Geralt sword slashed out at the Mountain’s exposed side, the enchanted steel blade striking directly across, however it didn’t slice fully through armor like past opponents. The Mountain grunted from the hit and backstepped, giving the Witcher a short chance to see the damage done. The meteorite steel had sliced through the plate, revealing multiple layers to the specially design armor, chain and harden leather. It be a miracle for any man to move wearing so much and he couldn’t imagine how hot it must get as well.

Gregor roared in anger as he’d twist about, left armored hand swinging out, the backhand no doubt as strong as a hammer. Geralt brought his sword up to guard it, grunting as blocking it made him skid backward, but he was quick to move as that great sword neared him again. He’d sidestep and weave around the towering warrior, circling behind him as he tried to find a weak spot among that dense armor. After all, even the tougher protection be it armor of men or the hide of a monster had gaps to it. When he checked around he’d see that the back of the armor joints from the knees, ankles, shoulders and elbows were more lightly armored, only having chainmail or leather at those points to allow movement.

“Stop dancing and face me!” The Mountain continued his wide attacks, trying to use the great reach of his weapon to force Geralt back. A normal fighter would try to put as much distance between the man’s blade and lashing fists, yet the Witcher continued to avoid each powerful attach with ease. Shifting to Gregor’s right side, he’d suddenly give a short leap as he bashed the toughed hilt of his sword against the side of the man’s head, making a resounding clang echo outand a pained cry escape from the Mountain.

Gregor lashed out again with fist and sword blindly, Geralt continuing to avoid them while he looped around. Once more he leaped, hilt striking the head again, this time denting the side of that barrel helm. Once more an echoing bang and pained cry. “Fucking…grrahhh! Stop that!” The Witcher didn’t relent as he’d duck under a straight punch then rose up to suddenly grab at the armored collar. Yanking Gregor forward as he’d give two crossing blows with the sword hilt and pommel, warping the metal visor and further denting the helm with the raw strength behind each strike.  
Despite the stunning blows, Gregor’s toughness was put on display as he’d endure the ringing pain and give a strong left jab right at the Witcher’s chest. Geralt realized the man’s move and leaped back, though got the blunt of that fist to the gut. Grunting out, he was knocked a few feet back yet maintained his footing. He’d grasp at his stomach, he’d take deep steady breaths as he’d stare down the man. The force of that blow feeling like getting butted by a Chort or Fiend, showing just how freakishly strong the man was.

“Ruined my…gah! Damn helmet!” Grasped at the dented helm, he’d struggle to get it off because of the damage done to it. Geralt stood back, giving the brute a chance to at least remove his damaged helmet. Once it was thrown aside, Gregor’s look of pure rage was fully shown across his gruff reddened face, eyes bloodshot from frustration from the ringing pain in his head.

“Having trouble Mountain? Head aching after that?” He knew the man was no doubt suffering intense headaches because of his abnormal size. Even if he was drugged up, it left him sensitive to head blows. With him mentally pained and angered, he’d be more unfocused and clumsy.

“Going to…kill you…crush your head…” Gregor grunted, teeth gritting together as he strained against throbbing pain in his skull.

Geralt tensed up again for another attack as the Mountain lifted up his great sword for a slamming blow, trying to crush the Witcher with the blunted blade. The Witcher moved at the last second as the weapon came crashing down, lunging at the left side of the man. Gregor was too addled to react quickly as Geralt twisted about to put his full strength behind his next attack. Honed mutant strength and meteorite steel sliced through the exposed back calf and knee with ease, cutting through the man’s thick muscles with ease.

Gregor growled out in pain, his react quite subdued for such a deep crippling wound. He’d slump forward, planting his sword into the ground to brace his body up as the armor began to weigh on him from the lack of leg support.

“Just cut the muscle fiber in your leg and knee. Recoverable yet crippling. You won’t be able to stand or move properly with that injury. Yield.” Geralt calmly stated, flicking blood off his sword.

“Lier. Just a flesh wound…” Gregor panted as he’d suddenly shift upward, grunting as his badly cut leg buckled, seemingly support him.

The Witcher had a surprise hint show in his eyes, seeing the man ignore a quite grievous injury. Perhaps the man was that addicted to pain killers that his body was numbed to such injuries. It be one explanation the claims of being invincible. “Idiot…Give up. Don’t make me cripple you.”

Ignoring the warnings Gregor yelled out as he’d turnabout and swung his blade, going for a low sweep at the Witcher’s legs. Leaping over the attack, he’d quickly roll to the man’s right, drawing out Dragon Fang with his left hand for an up-close attack. The mountain flexed his arm back, trying to drive his elbow and shoulder backwards to stroke, though only giving Geralt an easier target. That sharp dagger sunk right into the nook of his elbow, stabbing through thick flesh and muscle until the very tip pierced through the other end.

Roaring out, Gregor lashed out with his left fist, forcing Geralt to withdraw, but the damage was done. The Mountain seemed unfazed with the injury, even as his body showed just how damaged it had become. His arm became limp, struggling to hold the blade up now as his elbow could hardly flex upward.

“Give up.” Geralt growled as he paced about the towering man, sheathing Dragon Fang after brushing the blood off of its gleaming blade.

“Fuck you!” Gregor just switched the blade to his left hand, once more lashing out with fearsome strength still. It was futile as the attack was avoided and Geralt flanked him after a quick dodge. Grasping his sword with both hands, he’d tense for a powerful strike, decided to try rending through the back of the plate armor. The Mountain tried to turn about to defend or force back, taking too long to react meteorite steel cut across the left shoulder and back. Plate and chain armor was sliced through, along flesh and muscle. It took much of Geralt’s self-control to stop the blow from cleaving into the warrior’s spine.

This time the giant howled in true pain before he tumbled, his injuries overcoming even him. His grip on his sword loosened as he laid on his back, blood lightly marking across the grass. Geralt loomed over the man, fierce yellow gaze looking at that stubborn face. The watching knights were dead silent, openly gawking at battle’s outcome. Geralt at last could hear the nearby crowds cheering and calling out in the distance. No doubt they were going wild after what they had just witnesses as the Mountain was seemingly bested.

“It’s over Gregor.” Geralt muttered as he looked back down at the giant.

Suddenly the man’s left arm twitched and swung out, sweeping for Gealt’s legs. If it had been anyone else they would have easily been tripped over, but a Witcher’s reflexes were far too honed for such a trick. His steel heeled boot stomped down on the man’s armored wrist, a crack being heard as the joint fractured. Gregor yelled from the crushing pain while an intense scowl crossed Geralt’s face, annoyed at the man’s persistence.

“Heh…you enjoy it…” Gregor chuckled between deep breaths. “Hurting others…your eyes show it!”

Geralt was silent, his answer being his boot grinding down more on the man’s wrist.

“Doesn’t change a thing…I’ll kill you…don’t matter how…”

At that point the boot twisted, a snap following as the wrist was then broken in one move. Gregor groaned out in pain, body shaking from the shock.

“You won’t hurt anyone else ever again at this rate.” Geralt moved his foot off the limp limb taking a deep breath as he calmed himself.

“Finish it then! Kill me…because I swear I’ll gut you…and everyone you fucking care for!” Gregor yelled before giving a crooked grin. “Maybe I’ll find that girl…”

Geralt gave an odd look, confused at what Gregor meant.

“Heh…your silver haired bitch. Ciri…whatever…the one I heard rumors about. I’ll show her…”

The Mountain didn’t get to finish his cruel threat as a spiked studded glove soon crushed down at his face. With two powerful punches there’d be a sickening crack and gush of blood as Geralt broke the man’s nose, maybe even cracking the right cheek considering the buckled look it had. That blow shut the giant up as he’d lay very still, having at last fallen unconscious. Geralt winced a bit as he flexed his grip, surprised at how tough the man’s face was considering the stress he felt in his knuckles.

“Pray you don’t meet her…because she’d be far less merciful…” Geralt muttered, uncaring if Gregor could even hear him.

In the end Gregor was still, face stuck in an angered scowl while blood oozed from his twisted nose bloodied mouth. For the first time in the man’s violent life he had been completely bested, the only blessing being that he drew breath still.

**…**

By now a small group squires had hurried over, muttering quickly at the sight of the Mountain passed out and bleeding. “Get the cart!” One yelled as another already hurried off to the northern camp. Considering the sheer weight of the man and his armor, it be difficult to move him to the infirmary tent back in the main camp. Because of his serious injuries, he’d need the aid of Maesters to tend to his wounds. Geralt wasn’t sure if he’d be disqualified or punished for badly injuring Gregor, though no one had called out or had tried to intervene during the battle. Perhaps they didn’t think they could stop the Mountain or the crowd was too eager to see the fight’s outcome.

By now Geralt’s attention shifted to the surrounding crowds along the field as shocked gasps and amazed cheers filled the air as everyone noticed who was being carted off the field. Soon there were growing chants of ‘White Wolf’, ‘Witcher’ and Geralt as everyone knew who had toppled the infamous warrior. Even the knights gave cheers and laughs, Thoros being the loudest. For a short moment Geralt couldn’t help but smirk at the praise, unused to such attention.

“By the Flame Geralt…I knew you were good but…the man hardly fazed you.” The Red Priest remarked.

“Just fought him the Witcher’s way. Figured his weaknesses and exploited them.” By this point his attention fell to the remaining knights, at least eight others from what he could tell. “Still a few left.” His sword arm shifted up slightly, making the remaining knights tense up.

A few looked at each other before giving small chuckles and shaking their heads. “Considering what we witnessed…I doubt we’d stand a chance.” One knight admitted. Soon one by one the remaining knights dropped their weapons into a pile, giving respectful nods to Geralt as they surrendered.

“Not me…” A familiar voice growled as Sandor shoved through the group, large sword in hand as he’d suddenly rush at Geralt, forcing the Witcher to lock blades to hold him back. Up close he could see that Sandor’s jaw was badly bruised, most likely cracked considering the blood coating his teeth and worn lips. “I had him…yet you got in the way again!”

“Right, because trying to get your arm broken was part of the plan.” Geralt countered back. “Just saved you a lot of trouble considering.”

“Maybe. Was good to see the bastard beaten after all these years…doesn’t make me any less pissed with you.” He’d press in, showing off his strength as he forced his blade closer to Geralt’s face. “I was going to put him down…now you denied me that. More reason we settle our little rivalry here and now!”

“Gregor disarmed-”

“You think I care?! Fuck the Melee and the rules. This is personal for me now!” Before either man could react someone suddenly spoke up.

“You’ll heel Hound.”

Both Geralt and Sandor glanced to the crowd, watching the gathered knights step aside for Jaime as he approached, plated helm under one arm to cool off after the long battle. His armor was more of a bronze color then golden with all the dust covering it and his white King’s Guard cloak was worn from moving about constantly. His fine sword had blood on it and the lion shield was lightly dented from blocking a dozen strong blows, keeping that fearsome image still.

For a moment Sandor paused, seeming tempted to snap out an insult at the Lannister, only to mutter a low curse before backing off. He’d thickly spit up blood before shaking his head at Jaime. “Should just beat you to hell as well…problem is your father hang me for that…”

“Glad for your honesty Sandor.” It seemed Jaime didn’t take the threat personally, chalking it up to the Hound’s temper.

“Where’s Loras? Last I saaw he was clashing against you.” Geralt questioned.

“If you’re worried about the Tyrell then you don’t need to worry.” Jaimed stretched his right arm, the shoulder piece dented from a quite strong mace blow. “He was tough despite his looks. Matched up against me and a few others for quite a while. I sent him away with a few good cuts…nothing too scarring I’d say.”

For a long moment Geralt stood by, knowing well what this meant. “So that leaves just you and me then.”

Jaime’s face lost its smug look, a more serious gleam showing in those eyes. “Indeed it is.”

For a moment it was silent on the field, the only noise being the crowds cheering on, calling out for the White Wolf and Kingslayer. Slowly the remaining knights along with even Thoros and Sandor backed off, everyone sensing the fierce tension building up.

“Are you really that confident still? I just beat the Mountain…someone even you seemed hesitant to face.”

“Heh…true.” Jaime glanced down, focusing on Gregor’s discarded helm. “I have faced him plenty of times. Be it on the joust or mock battles, I felt he held back just ever so slightly against me…or maybe I was just that on guard with his brutality.” For a moment he’d pause, looking back up at Geralt. “Seeing you fight though reminded me why I wished to be knight…the conviction to face any challenge no matter how impossible.”

“I’d rather not hurt you Jaime. You’re sister and father may disapprove.” Geralt muttered, shifting to a low battle stance.

“Heh…no doubt. This isn’t about them though but me. This is about my honor…my ambition.” He’d lift up his helmet, fitting it over his head. “That is why I must beat you Geralt of Rivia. For you are my final challenge…my dragon to slay. The final proof that I am worthy of the title of the greatest swordsman of Westeros.” He’d take a strong stance, roaring lion shield forward and sword out at his side.

“So be it.” Geralt muttered. At first he thought this was just the young man’s ego, yet the short look of those eyes…he knew Jaime was serious. There be no more smug jests or boasts, he would truly face the might of the young Lannister. “Expect no mercy Ser Jaime…”

“I expect nothing less! Come White Wolf…Hear Me Roar!”With that both rushed forward, both giving a fierce short yell before reaching each other, sword slashing out for greatest duel to grace Westeros for so many years.

**...**

**Notice: An epic cliffhanger don’t you think? I can say this chapter has been hard to write considering it’s my first prolonged action scene. I must have rewrote it three times over. Hard to detail such fighting while trying not to be too repetitive with actions, movements and so on. I hope I did the Geralt and Mountain fight properly since in the end Geralt would never fight the Mountain head on, yet use tactics before all else. Share what you though about this grand fight and the next that will follow.**


	19. Season 1 Episode 18: Old Wolf and Young Lion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt and Jaime face each other in the greatest duel Westeros has seen yet as honed experience vs natural talent. The shocking outcome only deepens the pit of intrigue Geralt has thrown himself into. With the growing interest of Lord Tywin and the fearful paranoid of Cersei, the stakes continue to get higher as the Witcher nears the truth on who planned the attack on Bran and the secret the queen herself hides. Also, an ancient enemy continue's her plans that will threaten all of Westeros in due time.

**Chapter 18: Old Wolf and Young Lion**  
**…**  
Geralt and Jaime quickly closed the distance between each other, weapons raised for the incoming clash. The Witcher had to admit the young knight was fast even with all that armor on, making him note that Jaime wouldn’t be as predictable when it came to his movement like Gregor. Reaching striking distance, Geralt at first seemed ready for a lunging stab, only it was a feint for his real opening attack. Suddenly he’d twist about redirecting his momentum as he’d step around to the right side of Jaime to bypass his strong shield.

Normally such a deception would catch most opponents off-guard considering the speed behind the attack. Seemingly, Jaime reacted as he too turn with his shield up to block that incoming slash while swinging his own sword as well. Once more Geralt was caught off guard by Jaime’s speed, as he’d barely had enough time to lean away from that sweeping blade. Jaime didn’t relent though as he followed up with a shield blow, the strong metal bashing across Witcher’s chest and shoving him backward roughly.

Despite the blow Geralt kept his footing and shifted away to catch his breath, while Jaime stayed back, guard up for any sudden counters. For a moment the two just had a stare down, those few seconds of battle already having them strategizing over their next moves. In the background though yells and cheers from the crowds filled the air after seeing that lightening quick clash.

Slowly both men circled about, closely watching each other’s stance and weapons positions, trying to figure out what move the other do next. Geralt right then knew Jaime had planned well for this battle. For one that shield was the biggest threat toward him, since unlike the ones the other knights had used, this one was doubly reinforced. He doubted his blade could break through all that plating and toughened wood behind it.

Suddenly Jaime charged forward, shield forward in a charge before turning at Geralt’s right side. The Witcher was on the move, trying to keep some distance from that shield yet Jaime’s blade slowed him down. For a while the two began to trade blows, back pedaling and lunging for the attack, directions shifting constantly to gain a more favorable position. Every so often they’d trade glancing blows. A nicked cut at an exposed angle, an armored punch or for the Witcher’s annoyance a forceful strike by that shield. Neither was gaining an edge, though as time passed Geralt started to realize Jaime was getting his movement pattern down, reacting faster and avoiding any other feints. Already he knew his usual approach wasn’t going to work at this rate.

The two rushed in at the same time, blades locking to stop each other while that shield swung in for Geralt’s face. His left armored arm raised up, the toughened bracer blocking the blow even if the force made him grunt in pain. It took all of his arm strength just to keep that shield and sword back. The Witcher would suddenly strike out though with his right knee the steeled plating on his leggings drawing a winded grunt from Jaime and forcing the knight back. He was stunned for only a moment, giving Geralt time to back off and catch his breath.

Neither said anything, giving no jests or insults as they stood by, doing a short stretch after that clash. Right now Geralt was thinking over his choices…all of them requiring a Sign just to break such perfect defense. That made him realize just how much he relied on his magical skills to overcome such odds. No…he had to win by sword skill alone. At that moment he understood what he had to do as he’d glance at Jaime’s shield, a small smirk hinting his lips. The young knight had a questioning look but said nothing as he’d raise up his guard, expecting the Witcher to do an opening attack.

By now their short pause ended as Geralt took the first step forward, going directly at Jaime at first before suddenly weaving to the left, lashing out at the knight’s shield. Jaime guarded the quick attack before turning about to face the Witcher, trying to force him back with his blade or shoved away the shield. Geralt kept up the attack, starting to spin and twist rapidly as he used the whirl technique. It left his defenses low, while forcing Jaime fully onto defense to ward off the fury of blows.

Jaime held his ground, having a tense look showing from under that helmet as his shield arm lowered more and more. Geralt’s gambit had been right, even though the shield could block his attacks, constant blows rattled through his arm, straining the limb constantly. Soon, Jaime was forced back one step then another as rapid strikes kept going, chipping and denting the metal facing of the shield which it held strong still. Geralt was starting to feel the stress of maintaining the whirl for so long, even with adrenaline driving him on. Overall it was a test of endurance between the two.

Suddenly the constant attacks stopped as Geralt twist about for a round-house kick. Putting all his strength and momentum forward as he aimed at the center of the shield, just over where Jaime’s arm was braced. The young knight gave a gasp of pain as the stress snapped through him, making his arm reel back as his strong defense was broken. Shock showed in Jaime’s eyes as the Witcher lunged in, sword stabbing out at the knight’s right side, the sharp blade piercing through the fine golden armor with little difficultly.

A shocked grunt escaped from Jaime as weapon just pierce the skin, yet he’d slash out with his sword to force Geralt away. The Witcher relaxed his fighting stance slightly as Jaime caught his breath, glancing down at shallow wound before giving a chuckle. “Heh…been a long time since I saw my own blood.”

“Can stop right now.” Geralt calmly stated. “I’ve drawn first blood, so there be no shame in yielding.”

“You’d be right.” Jaime chuckled, seeming hardly fazed by his light injuries. “What gave you the idea to attack so recklessly?”

“Thoros.”

“Ah…make sense. He tactics while simple, are effective at times.” The young knight suddenly removed the heater shield, dropping it with a sigh before he’d stretch his arm, flexing his grip to make sure there was no issues. “However I’m not yielding. This battle has only gotten started.” The man shifted his stance, gripping his blade in both hands. “So long as I can hold a sword, I will not give up willingly.”

“Stubborn…” Geralt muttered, expected nothing less from the talented young man. For a moment he debated how to begin their next round of dueling. Already he learned a lot from their first round but noticed Jaime’s style had changed just from how his stance shifted and the way he gripped his sword. Meanwhile the young knight understood his moves, leaving him at a disadvantage. He half expected Jaime to charge in while he strategize, yet the knight didn’t. Perhaps it was his sense of honor or perhaps he wanted the Witcher to make the opening attack so he could counter it. A realization hit him as he knew that he needed to fight in a manner no one had seen him do.

Geralt shifted his left hand to his back, reaching for his silver blade. If anything what he was about to do was reckless. “In that case its time you face my silver blade as well.” The gleaming sword was draw out from its sheath before the Witcher spun in about in his grip. Vesemir never approved of the duel-wield style, said it was too flashy and pointless from his point of view and only good for short sudden attacks. Geralt only used it for finisher moves or facing groups, though he felt in this case the rarely seen style would give him an edge.

Jaime reacted oddly seeing the two swords, his stance seeming to falter for a short moment. His eyes betrayed a hint of shocked recognition as he watched Geralt pace forward, swords swinging and spinning about in his hands in a quite intimidating display. Soon though that gaze became tense, a hint of excitement now showing. “Yes…you are exactly like him.” Jaime muttered before reaching back, drawing a side weapon he had on his belt, a long dirk by the looks of it. “Been preparing for this day for years. It’s time I put this plan to the test.” Again he shifted his stance, sword forward and dirk back at his side, a proper duelist stance.

The Witcher was curious, unsure of what Jaime meant or the plan he seeming had. That alone had him even more on guard as both men circled each other. The crowd seemed restless with all this delaying, unknowing at just how tense this short standoff was. Either by chance or reaction both stepped in at the same times to attack.

Geralt did a short leap as he spun both blades about in a deadly arc, forcing Jaime to back step while he had his own weapons wards away those quick swords. The Witcher was constantly flowing into another sweeping attack, swords moving in a slashing cross pattern or in one direction for powerful duel blows. However Jaime was matching up as he’d block and parry about, putting that dirk to good use. It was a cunning replacement for his lowered defense and was a far more deadly weapon than the discarded shield.

A good few minutes passed as the two battled, their styles being equally matched as before. Every so often they’d trade blows, from Geralt’s steel blade cutting at the front of Jaime’s armor or the young knight’s dirk just getting a short stab at the Witcher’s side. That white cloak Jaime wore was ripped up and his armor was being rent apart by those sharp blades chipping at it. They weren’t pulling their attacks now, too driven to win this duel. All their injuries were minor, yet they were building up as the two fought more aggressively and the prolonged fight began tire them. Geralt was use to drawn out battles, thinking back to a battle against a unique Fiend called Morvudd, who he fought for nearly half a day in its hidden den. Of course in that fight he had half a dozen potions prepared and his defensive Signs to aid him.

Jaime was starting to slow down and was focusing more on evading attacks instead of parrying. His gaze kept that determined fierceness, showing that he was unweaving despite the growing odds.

“Give up Jaime. You’ve fought well but you can’t outlast me.” Geralt warned as he’d ready both swords for his next attack. He’d gave a fierce yell as he’d charge in again, barrowing from Thoros to be more intimidating. Jaime stood his ground as one sword slashed down overhead while the other stabbed forward, forcing the knight to use his long sword to block the high strike and the dirk to parry the stab. Instead of backing off to attack for another angle, Geralt pressed in, shoulder tackling into Jaime.

“What-!?”

Jaime didn’t get another word out as the Witcher’s armored knee drove into his gut, knocking the wind out of the knight. There was one thing that Geralt had realized with Jaime, he didn’t understand that in a true battle, rougher and lowly tactics were allowed. Thoros had been a reminder of that. Geralt had been too distracted by formal battles and practice fights. Even during the Melee he knew he had been refraining from more brutish moves when they would have made certain moments easier.

“Like I said…no mercy!” He’d growl as he’d side step to the right and attack at Jaime’s side, landing a solid blow which cut through the gold plating and along the skin.

Despite the stunning blow Jaime turn away and gave a broad slash with his sword, Geralt blocked it with one blade before stepped forward again for another stab. The short distance gave Jaime little room for him to parry with his dirk. He’d drop the weapon before his armored hand grasped at Geralt’s wrist, just stopping the blade by mere inches. It was now as struggle as the two were locked in a grapple, their long swords trapped in a clash, while Jaime struggled to keep the silver blade from him.

Once again though Geralt did the unexpected as his head arched back before he lashed out in a headbutt, striking at Jaime’s full helm. It hurt like hell striking metal and his vision blared from the tense pain in his skull. Even blood trailed down his forehead from an open gash. The blow though staggered Jaime and shifted his helmet about, partly blinding him as the knight moved his free hand to tug the helm off his head. Gasping, he’d stare at Geralt as both quickly recovered from the head blow.

“A low move…” He growled in a hint of anger.

“Call it improvising.” Geralt muttered back, giving a small smirk. “That is how a real fight goes…perhaps you’ve forgotten that.”

Jaime gripped his sword tightly, holding it in both hands as he’d take a strong stance. “Enough. Let us end this now…”

“Yes…lets!”

The Witcher had Jaime exposed right then. With that helmet off, it be easier to end this battle in a moment’s notice. Geralt quickly closed the distance, blades outward at his sides while Jaime stood there on guard, prepared for a reaction strike. At the last moment Geralt put his inhuman speed forward for just a moment, outmatching Jaime’s honed reactions by little more than milliseconds. Jaime still slashed out only for the silver sword to parry it aside then direct it down to the ground, pinning it into the earth. The steel blade swung downward for his neck, ready to press at Jaime’s throat and forcing him to submit.

Instead blood and a pained cry filled the air. Gasps escaped from the watching knights and crowds, everyone surprised at what had just happened, even Geralt having a shocked look replace his fierce expression. At that last moment Jaime had struggled forward, leaning in just enough for that blade to slice across the left side of his face. The deep cut went from his brow, down the cheek to his jaw, narrowing missing going across his eye. The Lannister gave shaky breaths and grunts of pain as blood trailed down his head.

“NO!” A woman’s voice screamed out over sounds of the crowd, making Geralt look to the royal stands to see Queen Cersei standing up from her seat, only being kept back as one of the King’s Guard held her back. She’d struggle and yell out orders, though it was too hard to make out her words among all the noise. Lord Tywin was also standing, trying to get a better look at what had happened. He seemed tense over what was happening but remained quite calm unlike his daughter.

Suddenly Geralt felt a hand grasp at his right wrist. His attention returned to Jaime who took deep steady breaths, still seemingly having the will to fight on despite the painful wound. Slowly he’d force that arm away and off to the side while he’s struggle up to stand up to look Geralt in the eyes. For a moment he seemed ready to say something before someone else interrupted him.

“Enough! This fight has gone on long enough!” Tyrion yelled as his horse came to a quick stop beside them. Two city watch were right behind the dwarf along with four squires who already had a stretcher and basic medical supplies on hand. “I will not have you two kill each other over petty pride! Look at yourselves!”

For a moment the tension faded as both men looked at each other, blood and dirt coated their armor, showing how long they had been battling. Indeed the ache of fighting for at least two hours creeped in, a realization of just how long the Melee had been. Slowly Jaime’s grasp weakened before slipping away, the man staggered back as he’d at last let go of his sword still pinned to the ground. For a moment Jaime swayed on his feet, breathing deeply while blood dripped heavily down his cheek and chin. His gaze seemed distant for a moment as he seemed ready to topple.

“Hey!” Geralt dropped his silver blade as his hand grabbed the knight at the shoulder, supporting him up as he was about to lose balance. “Stay awake! Just hold out a bit longer.”

Those words seemed to snap the Lannister to attention, making him glance at Geralt’s face even as blood coated onto his left eye. He’d just nod, knowing he had to stay strong for the crowds.

“Good people…both common and noble! The Melee is finished and we have our champion!” Tyrion spoke up loudly. “In a grand clash between Jaime Lannister of the King’s Guard and Geralt of Rivia…I proclaim the Witcher the victor!”

The masses cheered out, chants for Geralt and Witcher filling the air. Jaime gripped Geralt’s arm holding it upward with what strength he had, catching the Witcher off guard. If anything he felt awkward at this moment, never thinking he’d be winner of a royal tournament. Glancing to Jaime, the man gave a short nod before the knight let go of his arm, again slumping as the injuries and exhaustion took its toll. Geralt shifted to support Jaime up a bit longer as the squires hurried over to lead the knight away, Jaime shaking his head to refuse being carried out on a stretcher. The squires would support Jaime up as he’d stagger off the field for the Maester tent.

Despite how no words were shared, a deep respect was shared in that short moment. The Witcher couldn’t deny he had met a formable match, even if it was limited to just pure swordsmanship. However, he was snapped out of his thoughts as Tyrion rode up to him, giving a prod at his shoulder.  
“Don’t pass out yourself Geralt. You seemed lost for a moment.”

“No…just thinking.”

“Try to look lively at least until you return to your tent. If anything you could do with a care with those cuts.”

Geralt shrugged. “This is minor to what I’ve had, yet thanks for the concern. I can treat myself.” He’d pick up his blades, cleaning them off with a rag before sheathed in. The whole time the crowd cheered on, even though he was too tired to pander to them.

“Please everyone! Your champion is wary and needs his well-deserved rest! Sadly, we will have to skip ceremony for this occasion. For now please, go enjoy the fair grounds for rest of the day.” Tyrion declared, settling the crowd as they’d begin to file out from the stands.

Giving a thankful nod to the dwarf, Geralt hurried across the field for the tents, no one stopping him although a few knights gave respectful nods and short goodbyes to him. Even the nearby commoners gave him some space, looks of wonder showing as they watched the man who bested the Mountain and the King Slayer. Already the Witcher had a feeling plenty of songs and grand tales were going to spread around over night

**...**

The walk back was a blur to him as he’d arrive at his tent, slinging his blades off his back before going to the storage chest. Opening it, he’d grab a Swallow potion and gulp it down, giving a deep sigh as the potent mixture coursed through his body, dulling the pain as it began the steady process of mending him.

Removing his armor and bloodied cut up clothes, changing into a pair of fresh pants before collecting some water and rags to clean himself up. Wiping off blood, sweat and dirt, he’d pause as he heard someone nearing his tent before continued.

“May I enter Geralt?” Lord Baelish spoke out behind the tent flap.

There was silence for a moment. “Fine…come in.”

Littlefinger entered the tent, his gaze quickly set on the Witcher as he’d see the many scars that covered his body. Claw marks, bite prints, sword cuts and stab wounds marred his pale skin, a brutal physical history of Geralt’s dangerous life style.

“I’m no man of warfare…yet can’t imagine how anyone would endure so many wounds.” Petyr muttered.

“Always been a survivor.” Geralt answered back as he’d get a dry rag to finish cleaning himself off. “Can say Ser Jaime pushed me for the first time in months.”

“It was indeed a fantastic duel between you two, along of course toppling the infamous Mountain. You’ve accomplished more then what most men would ever believe.”

“I take you were doubtful of my success?”

“To a degree. Rumor and claim can only go so far. I can say I lost at least one bet I made…not a serious lost considering my other winnings.”

Geralt sighed as he’d toss the last rag aside. “And the point? I take you didn’t come here to have a friendly chat over your betting habits.”

“True…I wished to inform you that Lady Stark has been safely escorted out of the city. My agents reported this to me not long after the Melee ended.”

“Good. Glad that is one matter taken care of. Anything else?”

Baelish paced around the tent, gaze looking to the swords set nearby. “I am curious about your investigations as well. Have you confronted Tyrion yet?”

“Yes.” Geralt simply answered

“And?”

“He claims to have never won the dagger.” The Witcher grabbed the sheathed weapon, holding it up for emphasis. “Said he saw you handing it off to King Robert after his son’s naming day tournament.”

“An interesting story.”

“You deny it?”

“I think you’re being too trusting to the dwarf’s answers.”

Geralt’s gaze narrowed at how Baelish avoided a straight answer. “I can say I trust him more then you.”

Petyr chuckled at the Witcher’s answer, giving a small shrug in response. “True, but have you never considered that Tyrion maybe using you for his own ends? Using that trust to mislead you?”

Suddenly Littlefinger was shoved up to one of the posts supporting the tent, Geralt’s hand at his neck much like Ned’s had been outside the brothel. A shocked look showed on Petyr’s face as he’d gasp out, grasping at the Witcher’s strong grip.

“You know…Lord Stark was right about you. You’re a funny man.” Geralt muttered coldly. “Why so focused on putting suspicion on Tyrion? Some grudge between you.”

“Ugh…no…you’re misunderstanding!” Baelish gasped out.

“Really now?” He’d lift the man a foot off the ground, making Petyr struggle more. “Because misleading me would be an unwise choice. After what you saw today you’d know that by now.” Suddenly, he’d let go, dropping the lord down onto his knees. “Now the truth.”

Taking a few shaky breaths, Baelish nodded as he’d stand up and straighten himself. He did well to hide his shaken look on his face after taking a moment to calm himself. “I’ll admit, Tyrion and I have had a rivalry at times. However my reasons were for the King’s wellbeing…”

“Wellbeing?”

“If you had learned immediately about Robert’s ownership of the dagger, you may have reacted hastily at least from my point of view. We have only known each other for a short while and after seeing your first encounter with the King during the Small Council…it was obvious he and you don’t see eye to eye.”

Geralt had to admit the man had a fair point, even if it was grudgingly. “So why the false story on Tyrion?”

“Because he’d tell the truth, one that you’d know for certain was true. Again I am sorry for misleading on the matter, I had to be sure you’d approach things in a reasonable matter.”

Despite the man’s answer, Geralt didn’t fully buy the whole being tested claim. However he didn’t speak openly against it, although his sharp eyes no doubt showed the distrust he felt. “So then…you betted the dagger to Robert, which he won. I doubt though he’d hire an assassin to kill his best friend’s son, much less in a clumsy manner.”

“Yet a lot of people close to him would no doubt have access to it. What if the King had gifted it to a friend or someone within the family?”

“Does thin out the list…” Already he was thinking over possible suspects and possible motives.

Cersei didn’t seem the type to be gifted a dagger and was far from foolish enough to give it to an assassin, even if Bran may have seen her cheating with someone else. Jaime was a fitting choice, but he and Robert don’t seem to be friends, being more of a professional level between King and royal guard. Neither of Robert’s brothers where at Winterfell and they don’t seem to have a good bond with their eldest brother. That left only one individual…one that be foolish enough to set up the assassination.

“Going to need to talk to the King before I decide on anything.”

Petyr seemed to realize Geralt had some kind of revelation yet didn’t question the Witcher on the matter. “That maybe simple considering. The King may very well invite you for dinner tonight…that is if the queen allows it.”

Already Geralt remembered that horrible cry she had made when she had thought her brother had been cut down. “Guess he’ll send someone for me if that happens.”

“I’d be on my guard if I were you. If you didn’t have everyone’s attention before you will now after your grand victory. Watch yourself among the nobility.”

“I can handle myself.”

“Heh…I have no doubts about that.” The man paced for the tent flap out, stopping just before it. “Is there anything else I can do for you though? Perhaps there is something I can do to help.”

Geralt didn’t answer at first, not wanting to openly ask help from the smug nobleman. “Just keep an ear to the ground for anything odd. Maybe you can keep me informed of Gregor if he somehow recovers quickly and tries anything.”

“Simple enough. Ah right…should see Tyrion later as well once things settle down. After all you do have your reward to pick up.” Giving a short bow, Petyr moved to leave. “Enjoy your evening Ser Geralt.”

Watching the man step out, he’d sigh in annoyance. “Slippery bastard…” It was like dealing with sneaky manners of Dijkstra and the politic bullshit of Shilard. Deep down he knew the man was helping for his own ends, yet what he wasn’t certain. Despite the distrust he was an ally Eddard if things in court took a bad turn. Already all the worrying tired him, as if the soreness of battle wasn’t enough. Getting a blanket to lay on the ground, he’d shift down to meditate, wanting to at least quickly pass the time until the evening when Tyrion and other others would be finished with their duties.Taking a deep breath, he’d calm himself and close his eyes as he entered his trance, enjoying what short peace he had for the rest of the day.

**…**

“Ser Geralt?”

A young male voice snapped the Witcher out of his deep meditation, making him open his yellow cat like eyes to see who disturbed him. He’d quickly recognize it was Robert’s squire, the Lannister boy who seemed a bit short witted at times. Seeing Geralt’s gaze had the squire flinch, no doubt finding those eyes a bit unsettling up close.

“Yes?”

“Uhh…I have a message from Lord Tywin Lannister. He wishes to speak with you on some important matters.”

Geralt didn’t answer, only staring at the squire with an unblinking gaze before giving a small sigh. He guessed Tywin would have arranged a meeting, even more considering the outcome of the Melee. While it was tempting to simply refuse, he guessed it was best to not annoy the powerful noble. Besides, he felt Tywin could give him new leads or insight into his investigation.

“Very well.” Geralt shifted up to stand, stretching a bit to loosen up. “Lead the way.”

The Lannister squire nodded as he’d turnabout and head outside, the Witcher following close behind. Outside the noises of the tourney festivities quickly surrounded the two as they’d stroll through the private camp grounds with the laughter, chatter and music from the fairgrounds filling the air. It seemed everyone was enjoying the last free food and drink Lord Stark had offered up, a last call for merriment for the night.

“Everyone has been talking about you’re victory sir.” The Lannister squire suddenly remarked. “I saw the whole Melee…it was astounding really. They’re already working on some songs for you, the commoners I mean.”

“The bold heroic type or dark and brooding? That’s how most songs on Witchers go.” Geralt asked, dry sarcasm hinted in his words.

“Why dark and brooding? Your countrymen must have an odd view about you.” The squire questioned, obviously not getting the Witcher’s jest.

“Never mind. Anyway are we close?”

“Ah…right! Just here sir.” The squire pointed out a red and gold trimmed tent, an obvious sign of it being Lord Tywin’s encampment. Besides the entrance were two of the lord’s honor guard who were dressed in quite fine and unique styled armor. Approaching the entrance, they’d suddenly bar the way with their spears, making the squire gulp nervously. They’d look at the squire then Geralt, a hint of respect showing as they nodded to him.

“Ser Geralt. We’re sorry but you will need to wait for a while. Queen Cersei is busy speaking with her father privately.” One of the guard’s remarked.

“No worries. I can wait.” Looking to the squire, he’d continue to speak. “Anyway thank you for guiding the way. Uh…what was your name again?” Thinking about it, no one ever spoke the Lannister’s first name at all.

“Lancel ser.”

“Try to relax a bit this evening. Not often anyone can enjoy a tourney feast after all.”

The young man nodded, giving a thankful grin. “You’re right ser. After all it may be me who’ll win his own joust or melee someday.” Seemed the squire had quite the ambition hidden away.

“One step at a time. Anyway go on.” Geralt warned before the squire nodded and hurried off into the maze of tents. The Witcher’s attention focused back to Tywin’s tent, curious at what he and his daughter were discussing. The guards seemed focused on watching the main entrance, not paying too much attention to him while they idly chattered. He saw this as a good opportunity to eavesdrop, if he could get close enough for his sharp hearing to catch in. Pacing around the side of the tent discretely, he’d hone his senses as he’d shut out the many other noises. With some effort, he’d soon could pick out Cersei’s and Tywin’s voice.

“He’s dangerous!” The queen remarked sharply, seeming to be in a heated argument with her father.

“Most men like him are…you’re point being?” Tywin calmly questioned.

“My point? He scarred Jaime and he’s been trouncing across all of King’s Landing looking for something for the last few weeks. Always he’s been constantly speaking between Lord Stark and Tyrion. They are planning something…scheming…”

“Or you are being paranoid.” Tywin muttered sternly. “Firstly, has Jaime even complained about his injury? I take he’s being given the best care.”

Cersei paused before answering. “The Maesters say he’s injuries are minor, though the wound on his face will have scarring. He…hasn’t complained about that news.”

“So there. If he isn’t bothered then neither will I. He understands the risks any battle brings and if anything a scar is a blessing to the crippling Gregor received.”

For a moment it sounded as if the queen gave a low hiss of anger. “What happened to all that talk of family pride? Some foreign stranger wounds your favored son and you simply let him by.”

“If you are so eager to avenge Jaime’s honor then you may gladly pick up a sword and challenge Ser Geralt.” Tywin snapped back, leaving Cersei silent now. “You’re emotions are blinding you Cersei. Do not underestimate the man, he’s a calculating professional, not some short sighted sellsword. He understands how the intrigues of the court, maybe even better then you if he has you this concerned.”

“It is about Jon Arryn’s passing. From what I’ve learned he has been prying deeper into the previous Hand’s death.”

“Which we had nothing to do with…if anything learning the truth would be desired. Jon was a valuable member of the Court. He managed the Kingdoms well and organized your position as queen. With his questionable passing, Lord Stark has plenty of reason to suspect us and in turn the Witcher as well. Acting rashly won’t help our case of innocence.”

“What if he frames us or-”

“He won’t.”

“Again you are so certain.”

“Because I am. Just one look at the man I could tell he is someone who puts truth before all else.” There’d be a tense pause before he’d continue to speak. “Now if there is nothing else you will leave.”

Cersei was silent, making Geralt wonder if she’d snap back at her father for his blunt dismissal. However she’d gave a low sigh before hurrying for the way out. Keeping hidden, he’d see her hurry off and out of sight, giving him a chance to step out of hiding.

“Curious…” It seemed Tywin and Cersei didn’t see eye to eye, along with the fact the lord was just as interested in knowing the truth about the late Hand’s passing.

Approaching the guards, they’d move their spears to unbar the way into the large tent. The main space felt more suited for wartime, having hanging banners of the rearing roaring lion of the Lannister’s along with a large table set in the center of the space with a large map of the Seven Kingdoms set on top of it. At the head seat sat Lord Tywin, the older lord dressed still in fine plain clothes for the evening. Those calm judging eyes focused in on the Witcher, that same gaze Emhyr always gave.

“I apologize for the wait Geralt. Family matters with my daughter.” The man simply stated as the Witcher pulled up a seat a few spots away from Tywin.

“Must be quite important for you to have invited me so suddenly and dismiss the queen.” The Witcher questioned.

“A formality really. Your success in the Melee earned my respect and interest, something that isn’t easily earned.”

“No hard feelings over Gregor or Jaime?”

“Gregor…he is one our strongest and most loyal warriors who served well during the Rebellion. If he had a sense of self control and respect he’d be the perfect knight, yet such qualities are rare for those with his history.” Tywin paused for a moment, seeming to ponder a bit before continuing. “Few would dare face Gregor like you have and they usual have a reason. You though fought and bested him with ease, fearless despite his reputation.”

“Because I’ve killed a dozen ‘Mountains’ back home. Only difference is that he has the title of knight to excuse his crimes.” The Witcher simply stated.

“His actions during the end of the Rebellion did…complicate matters. The Martells of Dorne have long demanded retribution for years for the killing Elia during the sacking of the capital. I never ordered or accepted the death of her or her children, even if Robert agreed to a degree. What is done is done…as can be said now.”

Geralt decided not to argue on mortally about Gregor since it seemed Tywin knew just how much of a monster the Clegane was. “So what is his condition anyway?”

“Stable, however his injuries will be long term. When he woke up in the middle of getting his leg stitched together, he went into a rage. Nearly strangled a Maester and crushed a squire’s skull as they tried to restrain him. Took half a dozen men and enough sedative to drop an ox to calm him. Overall the Maesters doubt he will heal properly considering the precise wounds and the stress he put on them. He’ll be lucky to walk and wield a sword properly again.”

The Witcher didn’t respond, having nothing to say on the matter, his calm gaze hinted that the cold satisfaction knowing Gregor’s fate. “And Jaime?”

“Well enough. A few days and he’ll be at full condition, although he’ll have scarred from the slash along the face. A small price to pay for experience.”

“He’s a gifted swordsman. Been a long time since anyone has pushed me that far in a fight.”

A hint of pride showed in Tywin’s eyes, yet the man kept that calm demeanor well enough. “Jaime is the pride of my House, even if his potential is being wasted guarding kings. One day Robert will see fit to dismiss him and let him take his proper place leading Casterly Rock.”

“Seems odd you want him to take up lordship. Your family already is in line to becoming Westeros’s rulers after all.”

“True…yet I’ll not have our legacy limited to that. I’ve worked long and hard to get my family to the position of power it is in now and I expect my children to take their rightful places as well.”

He was just like Emhyr in mind set. That sense of his choices being the right ones and how everyone needed to obey them. If anything Tywin’s aspirations were very much the same as the emperor’s, to create a dynasty of power that his bloodline would dominate. “Fascinating as this is, I feel you didn’t invite me here to share family history Lord Tywin.”

“No but it is to make a point.” The man stated quite sternly. “The matter is you’re an oddity, someone will skills to outmatch the greatest knights in the land and having a sharp if blunt cunning within the court, all while being common born. I thought it was simply rumors, yet you’ve easily proven otherwise. Many see you as a threat and others a tool for their own ends. I question if you know who considers you as such.”

Geralt was silent for a long moment, knowing well what Tywin was trying to do. “And what do you consider me then? A threat or ‘tool’ as you say.”

“A possible ally.” He’d simply answer back, catching Geralt a bit off guard.

“That suddenly? I’ve heard many things about you Lord Tywin, easily trusting isn’t one of them.”

“For this I feel an exception can be made. As I said before Geralt you have the rare quality of being truly honest which I respect. You speak what you believe and let no one dissuade you, be it men like Gregor or even King Robert.”

For a moment the Witcher thought over Tywin’s words, his yellow eyes glaring for a moment. “Then let me be honest with you now. The answer is no. I’m not someone you can hire or convince to join your ‘side’. You may have claim to respect me, for me I value trust as well, which you haven’t earned. After all I’ve taken my time to learn of your history and past…a long history of betrayals considering.”

Tywin silently listened, Geralt could tell his words had struck a nerve with him. “So do you think trustworthiness and honor is enough? Eddard’s father and brother followed those beliefs and died because of it. Lord Stark has that same mind set which will drag you down.”

“I’ve heard that many times Lord Tywin…hasn’t killed me yet.” A small smirk hinted his lips as he’d shift to stand up. “For now though I think it’s time I left. This has been an insightful conversation though.”

“Indeed.” Tywin muttered, giving that cold look to the Witcher. “I do wish you fortune in learning the truth of Jon Arryn…and the misfortune to young Bran Stark, the attempt on his life is troubling news.”

What surprised Geralt on that mention was Tywin’s knowledge of it. Few knew of the assassination attempt beyond the Stark family and the few involved in the investigation. For a moment he looked at Tywin, realizing the man was far more informed then he originally thought. Already he questioned if he learned of this somehow through family agents…or if someone involved in the case had leaked the news.

“Goodnight Lord Lannister.” With that he’d leave the large tent, eager to escape the cold judging gaze of Tywin. It was for certain though, he already disliked the man greatly and knew that out of all the nobles in King’s Landing he was by far the most dangerous one about.

 **…**  

The walk back to tent was short since Geralt ignored anyone who tried to get in his way. A few nobles or stray commoners did greet him, though the serious look on his face was enough to dissuade them away. Already the Witcher was thinking over all the conversation he had overheard between Tywin and Cersei along with his chat with the noble. All it did was cement his distrust towards both the Lannister patriarch and the queen, who both seemed focused on the political game happening in the shadows. It seemed obvious neither truly knew who was behind Jon Arryn’s death, but they were obviously working towards a power grab with his passing. Yet what or how was the real question.

Entering his tent, he’d snap out of his thoughts when he saw someone pacing around the table, making Geralt tense for a moment before recognizing who it was. “Davos?”

The sea captain glanced to Geralt before giving a big friendly grin and stepped forward for a quick hand shake. “Congratulations on the victory Geralt. Gods it was a battle of a lifetime seeing you take down the Mountain and the King Slayer. I’m sorry I couldn’t speak to you sooner, just you ran off so quickly after the Melee. I assumed you needed the rest.”

“What about Lord Eddard?”

“He’s retired for the night along with his daughters. Shared a fine dinner with all three, can say the girls are quite the unique pair…if quite contrasting. Arya won’t stop remarking about every move you pulled out in detail. Girl has a sharp eye and mind to have noticed everything from so far.”

“A bit of natural talent I think. She’s proven that after just a few sword lessons.” Geralt remarked in agreement. “Still, why the late visit? I’d imagine you’d be back in the city and to your ship.”

“Aye you’d think that…however the matter at hand is very political.” Glancing a bit, he’d lean in to mutter. “Uh…there isn’t anyone over hearing us is there?”

For a moment Geralt paused as he’d slowly pace around the tent, his hone senses listening for anyone lurking just outside. Once he did a full circle, he’d nod which made Davos relax before he’d speak again in a low voice.

“I’ll admit Geralt. I have deceived you for a while.”

“Deceived me on what?”

“My reason being here. It’s beyond just trading and gathering ship supplies but spying. How well do you know about Lord Stannis, Robert’s brother?”

“Only that he’s the Master of Ships and what you’ve shared with me. Seems like he was a very upstanding if overly seriously lord from what I can tell. I know he left quite suddenly just days after Jon died.”

“That be true. Despite rumors though, he’s one of the most honest and dutiful men I’ve met in my life.” Davos took a deep breath now, collecting himself. “Stannis left for Dragonstone because he knew Jon was close to finding the truth about the Lannisters, mainly that behind Queen Cersei.”

“What truth?”

“Her children…he believed they weren’t truly Robert’s.”

“So you mean he believed them to be bastards? That is a serious claim towards Lady Cersei to cheat and purposefully set those children up as false heirs. The problem is proving that.”

“Which was why Stannis believed Jon Arryn was killed! The former Hand was close to having such evidence, enough that would have even Robert believe such claims. Stannis never learned what this proof was before fleeing to his Keep, which is why I’ve been visiting so often to try and find some trail to pick up on.”

“Which I happened to be on…clever.”

Davos nodded. “I was making plans to contact you when I learned you served for Lord Eddard, yet fate decided we’d met on different terms.”

“So I take you’ve shared this information with Eddard was well?”

“Of course! If anything the news seemed to trouble him as he seemed to realize something. Mentioned something about a tome dedicated to the lineages of the great houses. Perhaps there was some clue in it that he recognized.”

“Maybe. I’ll have to ask him about it once we return to the keep.” Geralt paused to think for a moment, wondering how to approach this. “If what you say is true then all that leaves is learning who the royal children’s true father is.”

“Stannis wasn’t too certain himself. Again much of this search was done on Jon’s part.”

“What if they are wrong though? If anything I can see Stannis making such a claim just to discredit his brother’s children and deny Joffrey his rightful place to the throne.”

Davos had a bit of a baffled look at the suggestion. “Stannis would never grab for power in such an underhanded way. This man has struggled hard for all his life to get to where he is, even when he was denied the credit he was due for the blood and effort given. While he did demand to be recognized for his actions and birthright, he’d never stoop so low to steal for such power.”

It was quite the impassioned speech and from the way Davos kept that unweaving look showed the captain meant every word.

“And I believe you. Again I’m just looking at this from all angles because if we make a mistake we’ll have a lot of people being blamed and branded as traitors.”

“With truth comes its risks.” Davos sighed.

“Indeed. For now though just keep your Lord informed while Eddard and I focus on this matter. If something new does come up you’ll be the first to know.”

“Thank you. I value you’re trust deeply Geralt.”

Again they shook hands before the sea captain stepped back, giving a small yawn and stretch. “Secrets aside…I feel it’s time I head back. Ugh…a long ride back to the ship that is for sure.”

“Roads should be lit by this hours, so I’m sure you’ll have no trouble. Still, watch yourself out there Seaworth.”

“I will. You be mindful yourself.” Turning to leave though, he’d nearly bump into a portly man dressed in tanned leather and a sizable head cap which covered most of his upper head, some courtier by the looks of it. “Ah! Apologies!”

“None needed sire. My mistake of rushing in unannounced.” The man answered back formally.

Davos nodded, seeming in a hurry as he’d leave the tent with a short parting wave back to the Witcher. Geralt’s attention though was set on the courtier who’d approach him.

“I have an important message from King Robert himself. He deeply apologizes for not being able to invite you for a private dinner tonight because of…complications. Thus he has requested you come with him on a royal hunt in three days’ time.”

“A hunt? Surprised he’d organize one so soon after the games.” Geralt questioned “Care to explain that…Varys.”

At that point the ‘courtier’ glanced up, an amused smile hinting his thin lips as the Master of Whispers better shared his face. Indeed he had put on some make up to disguise his soft features, yet Geralt’s sharp eyes could see through it all.

“Impressive. What gave me away?”

“The perfume you have on. Same stuff you wore at the Small Council meeting. Very distinct scent considering.”

“Nose is as sharp as your wit and eyes Witcher. As expected of a man of your many surprising talents.” The spy master complimented, giving a cheer grin as well.

“So what brings you here? Doubt you played dress up just to watch the tourney without being hassled.”

“This disguise has always been useful blending into such events. Let’s me get by and overhear anything…suspicious that warrant my attention.”

“Such as between me and Davos?”

“And Lord Tywin. I must say you walked a fine line speaking so openly with him, while not being too hostile.” The added remark drew some surprise to the Witcher, questioning how the man got close enough to overhear. However he decided to not ask, feeling he’d just get a half answer on the matter.

“So then…what do you plan to do? Do you deem me a threat suddenly?”

“Not yet, although you’ve complicated matters through your victory at the Melee. By now it’s obvious you’re quite the deadly warrior, a literal one-man army from my point of view.”

Geralt crossed his arms, a hint of annoyance on his face. “Getting to a point yet? If not, then I’d like you to leave…”

“It’s about the claims Davos shared with you. In truth I’ve been following up on such rumors as well.”

“Really now? So what do you believe in then?”

“Only that things in court and across the Seven Kingdoms will become quite chaotic, a situation I’d greatly wish to avoid.” He’d turn to leave the tent, stopping at the flap. “Your answers are much closer than you think Geralt. Both you and Lord Stark have been looking too broadly. Sometimes the most complex answer is simply the one in front of you.”

“Right…vague clues…my favorite spy trick.” Geralt muttered as Varys slipped out of the tent. Only a few moments later did the bald man’s head peek in quickly.

“Also I wasn’t lying about King Robert’s invitation. Hope your hunting skills are up to par.” With a small polite smile, Varys slipped out of view once more, at last leaving the Witcher alone.

Geralt gave a deep sigh as he’d sit at his cot, eyes closing as he’d think deeply over the news and the spymaster’s words. Already he was beginning to see a connection to it all. All it came down to King Robert himself giving the final pieces he needed to be certain and for Eddard to find whatever shocking link he had realized. If anything the invitation to the hunt was the perfect opportunity to privately question the King without being overheard and while he was in good spirits.

“All comes down to one point…” Geralt muttered to himself before glancing at the locked chest where Dragon Flag was tucked away. If the person he believed had owned the dagger back in Winterfell was who he thought it was, then things were only going to escalate no matter what. For now he’d relax on the cot, giving a sigh as the stressful day had taken its toll as he’d drift to sleep.

 **…**  

Many miles to the north west, a hard week’s ride from King’s Landing, the sound of digging tools and tired voices filled the air. On a tall bare hill famously known as High Heart, worn laborers heaved damp earth up around the center of large white wood stumps, the only remaining hints of the great weirwood grove that had crowned this hill. They were creating a wide deep pit, that could be easily be considered a pond if filled with water. Nearby, a large hut had been build or more of reconstructed considering the owner’s demands.

Weavess spied on her slaves through the blinds of the window, knowing very well that most would parish within the week. It didn’t matter, for in death their flesh would be of use for the coming rite, giving their lowly lives some last purpose. When she had sensed this place, she had been quick to halt her work on the tapestry and focus on using what weak willed followers she had to move to this sacred hill. She had communed with the dormant power, the ancient natural energy that was here. Such old history she had learned, giving her at last insight of this world’s forgotten history and the foolish beings that tended these long-fallen trees.

“Oh how weak the Children were. Fearful and cowardly…having so much power in their grasp yet lacking will to use it.” She chuckled to herself as she paced about the tapestry room, gazing at her beautiful work. Indeed the piece depicting the crones was nearly complete, the labor having been long yet worthwhile. “Yet I have the will. Yes…the time draws near when the dawn of flame breaks. With it the world with take’s its first breath for a new age. From that we will be together against sisters…” Mournfully she’d caress the tapestry, touching the fine material with such care unfitting for such a clawed limb.

Outside there’d be more coughing then gasping as one of the labors suddenly collapsed, the fellow workers keeping back as he fell over twitching before being still. Everyone paused, hesitant at first before two labors picked up the dead worker and dragging him to the hut, laying it before the doorway. Once they had hurried off, the hag’s gnarled hand yanked the corpse quickly inside, followed by the sickening crack of bone and the gory smack of bloody flesh being stripped away.


	20. Season 1 Episode 19: The King's Hunt - Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the tournament dedicated to Eddard over, Geralt returns to the Red Keep to follow up on critical leads that could answer the death of Jon Arryn and the assassin sent to kill Bran. Questioning Queen Cersei herself, he at last pieces together the taboo secret she has. Meanwhile Lord Stark prepares for the political conflict that is to come, planning with Geralt to reveal the truth to King Robert during the hunt.

**Chapter 19: The King’s Hunt – Part 1**   
**…**

Morning seemed to arrive earlier then usually, which Geralt blamed more on perception than anything else. Forcing himself out of his cot, he’d groan a bit as the lingering soreness from yesterday kicked in, even though the Swallow had done its job healing his durable body. A quick stretch eased some of the pain away before he’d change into his Witcher armor and begin the process of packing everything up for the return to the Red Keep. Outside he could hear the knights and servants working on preparing to leave, since many would long rides back to their holds, although he was sure a good third would stay at King’s Landing to mingle in court politics. Already he wondered if anyone he knew would remain, yet he wouldn’t know for sure until later in the day.

Walking out of his tent, he’d carry off his heavy packs to the nearby stable stands were Roach stood by. Thinking back, he remembered leaving the horse out at the Melee field, so he guessed a squire had brought her back. Of course could be that Roach returned on her own, since the horse had an odd happen of showing up even in the most distant of places. He didn’t question it in this case as he’d slung the bags over the saddle before mounting up and guiding Roach forward, however instead of hurrying for the main road back to the city, he took a detour to the Stark’s tent.

As he neared it, he’d see Eddard was busy directing his servants with packing everything up while his daughters were waiting close by, seeming quite sleepy having to be up earlier than usual. Arya though snapped to attention when she saw the Witcher, giving an excited grin as he nudged her sister before running towards Geralt.

“Geralt! Are you doing alright after the fight yesterday? I mean…father told me you were fine and we shouldn’t bother you…even though we wanted you over for dinner.” The girl remarked quickly.

“Slow down Arya. Chatter about that fast and you’ll faint.” Geralt chuckled.

“Sorry. Just…you beat the Mountain and the King Slay- I mean Ser Jaime. It was so hard to keep up on the last fight, but it was amazing how fast you moved at the very end! Jaime was able to match up somehow despite all the odds.”

By now Eddard would approach the two, giving a small laugh as he’d ruffle the girl’s hair a bit. “Best remember it well. I doubt you’ll ever see a duel as grand as that. Anyway get you pony ready, we’ll be heading out soon. You can pester him with questions at your next lesson.”

Arya sighed before nodded in agreement. Giving a small wave to Geralt, she’d hurry off back towards her sister who was already being helped up onto her own horse by a servant. Eddard watched his daughters for a moment before glancing back at the Witcher, a more serious look in his eyes.

“Did Davos tell you everything?”

Geralt simply nodded back as an answer.

“Won’t be certain about my theory until this evening. If it is, then the situation in the capital is much more dire then I originally thought.”

“We’ve made it this far. Besides, your authority as the Hand should give us an edge.”

“I hope so…because if our influence isn’t enough then force will be our only option.”

Geralt smirked a bit despite the grim matter. “Thankfully you have me if that comes around.”

“Which I’m grateful of. For now, try to relax and try to build up your favor with Robert. He told me about his plans going out on the hunt and if anything that may be a blessing for us.” Glancing to his daughters, he’d give a soft smile before giving a sigh. “I’ll see you back at the Keep Geralt.”

“Take care Ned.” The Witcher turn Roach about as he’d ride out ahead, weaving through the maze of tents as he’d reach the main road. If anything he wanted to get back early to question a certain Maester before the Red Keep was crowded up once more. There was still a few more questions left and this time he wouldn’t have anyone intruding like before.

**…**

The ride though King’s Landing was quite active as it seemed like a mob of people were constantly pestering him. Already the news of his victory at the Melee and defeating the two most renowned warriors of the country had spread around. At times he’d hear someone yell out ‘Witcher’ or ‘White Wolf’ before a few cheers and friendly laughs followed up. It was odd to hear really, being more use to the spiteful remarks from back home instead of received respect and awe from the commoners.

Hurrying along before he got too much attention, he arrived at the Red Keep’s gates and was let inside by the guards. Taking Roach to the stables, he’d grab his packs off the saddle before heading into the Keep from a side entrance, working his way to the guest quarters and his room. Once there, he’d quickly check his storage chest closely to ensure everything from his crafting materials and bombs were accounted for, knowing very well the risks of any of these items being stolen. It was a long process, yet it seemed nothing was missing after a detailed search. With that matter cleared, he’d gather a few herbs and vials before going to the nearby worktable he had set up to begin making some fresh Swallow. After using up a dose yesterday, he wanted to make sure he was fully stocked for any emergencies. Perhaps it was a bit over cautious, but such steps had saved his life many times. It only took a few minutes of time considering the simplicity of the potion, which he’d pack away in the chest along with his silver blade.

“Now then…to visit the Maester.” He muttered to himself before leaving the room, ensuring it was locked up securely.

From what he learned, the Maester laboratory was in the lower parts of the Red Keep, close to the cellars and the dungeons. It was a winding walk to the depths of the Keep, following familiar smells of alchemy oils and dusty parchment that hinted the air. Arriving at a sturdy doorway, he’d hear shuffling and the rattle of chains as Pycelle was no doubt busy working about in the next room. Giving a strong knock at the door, there’d be a small surprise gasp before the old man spoke out.

“Who is it?”

“It’s Geralt, Grand Maester. I’m here to ask some more questions.” He spoke out through the door.

There was a long pause before the Witcher heard the man approach the door and undo quite a number of locks to open it up. Once the door swung open, Geralt stepped through while Pycelle backed away, going down a small number of steps that lead down into the laboratory work space. It was an impressive set up, having top quality alchemical devices and a wide mix of crafting tools.

“Eh…I thought we already finished our questioning Witcher.” The Maester muttered as he returned to an alembic which was connected to a retort, carefully monitoring the flow of fluids and the temperature from a nearby flame. “Ah and…congratulations on your victory at the Melee. An uhh…impressive display indeed. You at least gave the uh…other Maesters a chance to practice their m-medical skills, especially in Gregor’s case.”

“I take he needed some special treatment?”

“Obviously! Man may be f-freakishly strong, but even he…uhh…has limits. The muscle damage alone required serious surgery to mend. Very experimental work considering the lack of...living cases. Time will tell if the work is successful though.”

“Enlightening. However I’d prefer we stay on topic.” Geralt paced around the lab, eyeing a few dried insect and plant samples in pressed displays. “Few days back I asked you about Jon Arryn’s death. You confirmed his passing wasn’t natural but from a rare poison.”

“Ah yes…I remember that much. Tears of Lys.” The Maester said with a small nod.

“You mentioned that some of it was missing before. Care to explain?”

The mention had a confused look cross the old man’s face, no doubt his memory on that matter being muddled because of the Axii Sign forcing him to speak. “Odd. I can’t say I remember mentioning that.”

“Well you did…unless you claim otherwise.” The Witcher’s yellow eyes stared at the man in a judging manner, making the Maester shift nervously.

“Of c-course not! Look the matter is very troubling…if news got out of s-such a poison being loose in the Keep, there would have been a panic.”

“That is understandable but doesn’t change the fact Jon died because of it. Surely you have suspects, someone who asked about the Tears or knew about them.”

Pycelle was silent as he’d think for a long moment. “Lord Baelish would know because any royal gifts such as the Tears would be cataloged in the treasury records. The Queen and King obvious k-know of it too. Jon also knew of it, even asked to have the poison…D-deposed of for safety reasons.”

“Ironic. Anyone else?’

The Maester paused, before giving an odd look. “I do remember one strange visitor. Jon Arryn’s wife visited at least once. Friendly if skittish woman really.”

“His wife?” Admittedly Geralt hadn’t heard much of the woman, except she was Catelyn’s sister and now the current ruler of the Eyrie now that her husband was dead. “Let me guess, she asked about poisons.”

“Indeed. Claim she was worried her son ate something bad, some herb in the garden one day. She went on and on about it, asking if anything I had could be a cause. I guess at one point I mentioned the Tears, yet the conversation was a while back.”

“So let’s say she did steal it…how would she do it?”

“Eh…most likely with her husband’s key. The Hand of the King has access to poisons, of course after clearing the matter with me. I didn’t get a chance to inform Jon Arryn of the theft before his rapid decline in health. Man could barely think clearly under the f-fever he had.”

“Yet he didn’t report his key missing?”

“None. Again…uhh…many uncertainties.”

“Indeed. So then if his wife…uhh…what is her name?”

“Lady Lysa, Ser.”

“What happened to Lysa during those last few weeks?”

“Ah…I can’t say for sure. I only know she left right after his death, taking her umm…only son, Robin, with her. Woman was very protective of the boy.”

“Was anyone close to here? Anyone among the royalty or servants”

“The closest be Queen Cersei I’d think. The two c-chatted at times, over what I know little of.”

Geralt sighed, wondering how he’d get any answers from the Queen considering her new found dislike towards him. He’d have to be careful with her, considering she may very well have had a hand in Jon’s passing, considering her fear about the investigation. “Very well. Thank you for your time Maester.” He’d give a short nod before moving to leave the lab.

“Of course…take care of yourself Ser Geralt.” The Maester muttered, yet as the Witcher left he did notice the old man’s calculating look just as he passed through the door. He had a feeling the old man was far more cunning then how he appeared. For now though, he decided to return to the upper floors to see if anyone else had returned from the tournament grounds.

**…**

Geralt headed to the main dining hall, hoping to get some food and run into anyone from the tourney. Entering the hall he’d quickly hear a familiar booming voice speaking out, making him glance around to see Thoros sitting at a table with Loras, chatting over a late breakfast. The young knight seemed a bit intimidated by the priest considering his nervous look, though their conversation seemed friendly enough.

“Come on, stop acting so meek boy! Have a little pride you faced against Jaime and survived the Mountain.” The Red Priest chuckled.

“I know that, yet it feels lowly that I’m renowned for surviving such battles. I’d prefer to remembered for win them instead.” The young knight muttered back.

“Winning isn’t everything Ser Loras.” Geralt added as he’d move to an empty seat, drawing a surprised and friendly looks from both men. Picking out a bit of bread and cooked beef, the Witcher took a few bites before continuing to speak. “From what I heard you at least matched up well against Jaime. Considering what he’s capable, I’m impressed you lasted that long against him.”

“Heh, I’ll accept that praise from you Witcher.” Loras chuckled. “Wish I had just a fraction of your experience though. Perhaps I would have bested him.”

“That battle was indeed grand!” Thoros laughed out. “Young vs the old. Natural talent against aged experience. Kingslayer may be a cocky young man, but I think your duel knocked a little sense into him. Time and trials will tamper him into a flawless warrior for sure.”

Geralt nodded in agreement. “So I’m curious, why are you still around Loras? Thought you’d be returning to Highgarden.”

“A mix of personal and political reasons mainly. After all, still chances for new alliances to be made at the Red Keep.”

“Of course.” Geralt did remember that Loras and Renly seemed to be close, no doubt one reason for the Tyrell remaining in the capital. “What about you Thoros? Planning on roaming across the Kingdoms soon?”

“Nah…plan to stay as long as you are.”

“Really? Why is that?”

“Why? Because of fate! Yesterday was proof of that with the Lord of Light’s blessing!”

“Surely you’re jesting Thoros. I’ll admit the flaming sword was a neat trick, even more considering it wasn’t wildfire.” Loras remarked.

“Was no trick! It was real faith being proven right there! It was like what my visions showed…well…vaguely.”

Geralt was indeed curious about what had happened, considering that fire was indeed magically summoned if his medallion’s vibrating was proof enough. “Maybe…so this vision you had. Can you do it again?”

“It’s not something I just do. There has to be a…timing to it all.” The priest muttered. “Yet I check the flames every night now, trying to gleam another vision. So far I know that you are the focus of them, showing that you’re key to the Lord’s plans.”

The Witcher didn’t remark at the priest’s claim, not fully agreeing of a ‘god’ pulling the strings. Still he couldn’t deny there was some power stirring in the man, be it his own will or something beyond. “Well if you get any visions just tell me. I’m at least curious to know.”

“Of course! May be hope yet that you’ll see the Lord’s light just yet!”

Loras sighed, seeming baffled by all of this. “As interesting as this may be, I feel I must excuse myself. I need to check up on someone.” The young knight got up from his seat and walk out of the hall, leaving Geralt with Thoros.

“Have to say I should be moving on as well. Need to see if the King and Queen has returned by now.” Geralt remarked to Thoros

“Should be soon. They were just about finished packing when we headed off.” The red priest answered back. “I know Robert invited you on a hunt. Been on my fair share and can say the man is quite the talented one despite his lack of fitness. Maybe he’ll show you a trick or two.”

“I’ll be observant. Take care for now Thoros.” Geralt moved to get out of his seat before heading for the exit that lead towards the main entrance to the keep and throne room, expecting he may run into the royal family there.

“You too Witcher!” Thoros chuckled out before he’d quickly continued finishing breakfast.

**…**

Arriving at the entrance hall, Geralt slowed his pace when he heard the voice of Joffrey echoing ahead, seeming to be speaking with someone. Hanging back by an archway, he could see the blond haired prince was speaking to Sandor who seemed quite groggy eyed, no doubt from a long night drinking by his disheveled look. It seemed the prince was quite annoyed towards the tall warrior with how he spoke.

“Hound! Can you explain to me why you arrived here so late? For a bodyguard you seem to be slacking of late, leaving the job for the Gold Cloaks.” The boy grumbled.

Sandor looked at the boy, his eyes having a dull look to them. “Got caught up in the festivities sire.”

“More like mellowing. I heard how you hid away with half a cast of ale to yourself, dull yourself over your defeat at the Melee..” Joffrey sneered a bit. “No doubt angry you lost your chance for revenge? The White Wolf made quick work of the Mountain after all…”

Already Geralt could see Sandor tensing, one armored hand clenching as his hanged over state made his patience quite thin to Joffrey’s insults. It seemed like he was about to strike at the boy, so the Witcher stepped forward into view, making Sandor relax his grip as Joffrey’s attention focused on Geralt.

“Ah the hero of the Melee, the fierce White Wolf! You made my name day tourney seem childish with how you bested nearly half the competition, even outmatching my uncle. I hope one day you two will have a rematch, perhaps on my royal coronation.”

“May not be staying in Westeros that long sire, still a generous offer.”

Joffrey sighed in a hint of frustration. “Quite the shame.” Yet before the prince could say anything else, more footsteps could be heard as others entered the hall through the main doors. Everyone glanced over to see Cersei, dressed in a lavish red and gold trimmed dress with her younger son and daughter following close beside her. When she saw the Witcher there was a hint of surprise at first before those eyes narrowed sharply, distain showing for a short moment. Following close behind her was one of the King’s Guard and two city watch, her escorts from the tourney grounds.

Still he’d give a short respectful bow to her. “Good morning your majesty.” Glancing to her children at her side, he gave a small smile to them. “And to you as well lord and lady.”

The kids giggled and muttered at his friendly greeting, although Cersei seemed to keep herself close to them as if to ward away the Witcher. “You are here earlier than expected Ser Geralt.”

“Wanted to return as soon as possible before the streets go crowded. Have earned quite the reputation after yesterday, which does draw unwanted attention.” Pausing though, he’d continue to speak. “The tournament aside though, there is a certain matter I wish to question you about Jon Arryn’s wife, Lady Lysa.”

There was a curious and cautious look in Cersei’s eyes at the mention of the other woman. “I take this involves her husband’s death?”

“She’s become a prime suspect after I questioned Grand Maester Pycelle. Considering what I’ve learned and the fact she left the Keep soon after her husband’s death, a quite suspicious move considering. He told me you and she chatted often, so perhaps you can shed a little light about her during that time.”

Cersei was silent as she’d look to her children who’d approach Joffrey, the prince seeming to be chatting with his younger brother, seeming to be telling a grand story from how he gestured about. The King’s Guard and the Gold Cloaks stood by dutiful, watching the children while the Hound stepped aside, leaning against a nearby pillar to rest a bit.

“Ser Trant.” The gold armored knight looked at the queen. “Would you escort Tommen and Myrcella to the tutor’s room? I have a small matter to discuss with Ser Geralt.”

“As you wish your grace.” The gruff knight answered back with a short bow, organizing the children together who’d wave goodbye to their mother as they’d be led away.

The queen’s gaze shifted to her eldest son, who’d see the silent command in her sharp eyes. Glancing away, he’d give a nod to both her and the Witcher before muttering something to the Hound. Both hurried off as well, heading down the corridor leading to the dining hall to get an early lunch.

With a gesture, Cersei lead the way down a side hall that took a more scenic route through the Red Keep, mainly along an open hallway with a fine view of the vast gardens and the sea. Of course the two guards followed them, hanging back to not overhear while watch the two closely.

“Lysa and I didn’t talk as often as you’ve heard.” The queen muttered to the Witcher as they strolled along. “Always it was about family…both of ours. Lysa long has had a troubling history of baring stillborns which is why she was so protective of her son Robert, being her only living son. He is sickly boy, yet deeply cared for by both is parents. Jon however planned to have him sent off to be a lord’s ward, begin a more proactive training and gain firsthand experience, hoping it would improve the boy’s health.”

“Not uncommon. It is meant to be a show of trust and alliance to do so.” Geralt remarked.

“Indeed. Jon had chosen my father to care for his son, a fitting choice since both men held the highest respect for each other. However Lysa was shocked at the news, being quick to approach me and begging that I convince my father to refuse, even though there be little I could do to dissuade him.”

“She was that hysteric?”

“The woman was paranoid really. I’m surprised she shared such personal thoughts with me…perhaps it was out of desperation or some faint affinity for us being mothers.”

“Do you think she’d go as far as to poison her own husband?” He’d question before the woman stopped, turning to face out at the beautiful sea.

For a while Cersei didn’t answer as she’d leaned against the carved stone railing, making Geralt wonder if she was trying to ignore him. “Tell me…how far would you go to protect your child? I know you have an adopted daughter, the one who you are looking for.” Glancing at him, a small smirk hinted her lips as he saw the serious look hinting his yellow eyes. “How far would you go to protect her, even if it meant hurting others?”

“If needed. I’ve fought and killed those who’d threaten Ciri or myself, but never went as far to harm innocents.”

“Yet in the end someone will get caught up or the lines between enemy and innocent become blur. As a man who’s seen much of the world you must understand that at least.” She’d pause, letting those words sink in while Geralt kept that calm if intimidating stare at her. “I do believe Lysa could have poisoned her husband just to keep her son at her side, the only place she considers safe.”

“May have to ask your husband to call her to the court for questioning.” He’d shift back, seeming to be done talking with her. “Thank you for your time your grace.”

“Of course Geralt, anything to help you find the truth.” She answered back formally.

As he moved away to head back down the hall, he paused as a thought came to mind. He still had some suspicions about the queen, mainly relating to her children after what he had overheard between her and Pycelle. It was risky to do this considering what she had said to her father, yet perhaps a little pressure would give some clues.

“One other thing…you’re children really have quite the resemblance.” He suddenly remarked, his tone casual towards her.

While her back was toward him, he’d notice her form tense lightly, the hand on the stone railing gripping it tightly for a short moment. “In what way do you mean?” She’d muttered back, her voice having a cold demanding tone to it.

“They all seem to take after you. Gold hair and such. Joffrey though has his father’s fierce spirit, something that he should discipline more considering his aggressive behavior.”

Cersei paused for a long moment, yet Geralt could see how her nails lightly scrapped along the stone in a growing sign of anger. “He is my son and I’ll continue to rise him as I see fit.” She calmly stated.

“Of course. I didn’t mean to imply your grace.” The Witcher gave a small bow. “Anyway I’ve taken enough of your time…farewell.” He’d continue on his way, looking back to see the woman shaking a bit where she stood in a mix of fear and rage. There was no doubt now, Cersei was guarding something about her children just like Jon Arryn had suspected. It all came down to children, Gendry and whatever hunch Ned had.

“Still a lot of daylight ahead…better wait till nightfall.” He’d head for his room, feeling a few hours of extra sleep would be a good way to pass the time before meeting with the Hand of the King.

**...**

Geralt crept through the Red Keep as night had settled in, leaving the corridors empty except for the odd guard patrolling around. While he had no worry of getting into trouble with the Watch, he preferred to be discreet with meeting Eddard. Soon he’d reach the doors that lead to the Hand’s Tower, the private quarters and study for Lord Stark. A pair of northern guards, men brought along from Winterfell watched the doors, both giving respectful nods to the Witcher as he’d pass by.

The first floor seemed to be a mix of lodge and small dining area for private gatherings. More Northerners were sitting or standing about, at least over half a dozen from Geralt’s count. By the spiral stairway leading up, Geralt recognized Jory, the Stark’s captain of the guard. He hadn’t seen much of the man since moving into the Red Keep, though he knew the captain was a dutiful and loyal individual.

“Evening Geralt. Lord Eddard is expecting you on the top floor.” He’d gesture to the stairs taking the lead leading upward.

“A lot of security. What’s going on?”

“A precaution. Lord Stark will explain.”

They’d pass the second floor which seemed to be guest area, having a small sitting place which had a hallway leading out to smaller rooms. One guard was sitting back in one chair, seeming to be keeping an eye on the separate room doors. “Eddard’s daughters have been moved in here for now. Sansa was frustrated at first, but she had settled down. Still, we’re being mindful of their safety.” Jory remarked.

The third floor was much like the last, yet it only had one separate room. Geralt guessed this was Ned’s bedchambers. Soon they’d reach the top floor, the study which like the last two had an antechamber that lead into the secured office. Jory knocked at the door in a certain pattern before someone within spoke out. The captain of the guard opened the door for the Witcher, revealing Stark’s office. It was much like the study in Winterfell, although a bit bigger and having a balcony that gave a fine view of the ocean and King’s Landing. Behind the massive oaken desk sat Eddard, who was busy writing up a letter, one of many that was piling up. Finishing the letter, Ned sighed as he’d set his quill down before glancing up at Jory and Geralt, a tired and serious look in his eyes.

“Thank you Jory. You can go now.” Eddard muttered.

The captain nodded as he’d turn to leave, closing the heavy door behind him, leaving Geralt and Ned alone now.

Neither Geralt nor Ned said anything for the moment as the Northern lord worked on getting the last letter folded and closed with a seal. The Witcher paced around the office, eyeing a few books as he waited.

“So what are you planning Ned? Added guards show you’re prepared for trouble…and I can see a few of those letters have a few powerful names on them.” Geralt calmly stated.

Ned set the letter on top of the pile before he’d shift up to stand, stepping around the desk. “A backup plan if trouble arises. If what I’ve deduced is true then we’ll need all the support we can get.” He’d gesture Geralt to come closer, one hand resting on a thick tome with quite the long title.

“‘The Lineages and Histories of the Great Houses of the Seven Kingdoms’. Davos mentioned you found a book that Jon had been researching into.”

“Yes. This was buried under a lot of older tomes and records Jon had collected. I think with what strength he had, he deliberately hid it away as some kind of clue.” He’d flip open the book where a bookmark was set, the chapter being on the Baratheon family. All across the page it detailed marriages and short descriptions on each member of the family. Throughout it there were small markings and circles made, mainly over the details on male descendants of the Baratheon line. “Take a look.”

Geralt studied the book and the markings, yellow eyes scanning page after page, noticing quickly a common quality among the men of the family. “All have black hair. It makes sense…dominate heredity trait” Looking closely he’d even see how past unions with Lannsters continued with the black-haired appearance.

“Exactly. It is the reason why Jon looked into Robert’s bastards within King’s Landing, to get physical proof of this.” Ned remarked. “It means that Joffrey isn’t Robert’s true son, but a bastard child that Cersei has bared with someone else.”

The Witcher paused as he’d shut the book close. “That mean Lord Stannis be next in line unless Gendry or elder son is legitimized by the King’s command.” He muttered. “So now it comes down to who’s the father of Cersei’s three children.”

“From the look in your eyes I can tell you have some ideas.”

“Yes…and if it’s true it makes matters a lot worse.” The Witcher paced around the desk, gaze set on those sealed letters. “It’s Jaime. It’s the only logical explanation.”

A hint of surprise and shock showed on Ned’s face. “That is…a serious claim.”

“Yet the most likely. If anything it’s quite obvious if you look close enough.” His piercing yellow eyes glanced right at Eddard. “They share more than just simple sibling bond. Just the subtle hints during the tourney are proof of that. Besides the children are nearly a splitting image of him and her. Give Joffrey a few more years and I’ll bet he’ll look a lot like Jaime when he was that young.”

Ned took a deep breath, a troubled look showing across his face. “Bad enough to be born as bastards…yet products of incest.” He’d pause as he’d rub one hand across his face and down his breaded chin. “If this is true…”

“If Robert learns of this who knows what he’ll do. At best he’ll disown them and have the Lannister’s disgraced. Worse case…kill them all. Start a whole new war with all of the Westernlands.”

Ned nodded slowly, a grim look in his eyes. “I know. This is a deception that he will not stand for.”

“So how do we handle this? One factor we have to think over is with Lord Tywin himself.”

“Why is that?”

“I doubt he knows about Joffrey’s or the other children’s true parentage. The man values his family’s reputation about all else and the act of incest would be damning towards it.”

“True, yet he values family just as much. He’ll no doubt try to discredit the claims and still defend his children from the King’s justice.”

Eddard gave a small nervous chuckle. “Seems we’re in quite the corner then. A disturbing conspiracy with no simple solution.”

Geralt was silent for a long moment, looking at Eddard with a calm gaze. “Ned…you know that if Cersei and Jaime are together, it’s logical that he was with her at the tower in Winterfell.”

Lord Stark nodded, glace looking down at the table as one hand rapped against the strong wood firmly. The Witcher could sense the building anger from the man as he struggled to keep himself composed. Even Geralt felt a stirring fury too, wondering how Jaime could act so normally in front of them, even during the moments discussing about the boy.

“I know…I’d like nothing more than to make them pay for what happened to my son.” He’d take a shaky sigh before looking up. “Yet it will be through proper means…through the law and courts. We have to approach this carefully, else we will have a repeat of the Rebellion like decades ago.”

“So any ideas then?”

Ned thought for a moment. “We could approach Cersei. As much as I hate the idea we can blackmail her with the information, give her a chance to flee King’s Landing with her family. At the least that will give us time to calm Robert down with the news of her incestuous infidelity without having any senseless bloodshed.”

“Ned, that woman’s ego and desire for power won’t have her back down. If you threaten her like that she will lash out and we both know she has powerful allies to back her up.”

“Which is why we will be ready in force to. I have been gathering up my men and trustworthy knights, people who are loyal to the Baratheons and the King. In turn you have allies to look to, men like Thoros and Loras Tyrell who both respect you.”

“Thoros be a good choice, he’s a friend to the king after all. Yet Loras I don’t think we should involve. He may be famous for his prowess, but he seems to have little political standing with him family and here.” He’d shake his head though. “Coup like that is too risky. We can easily be seen as the aggressors and be blamed for outright rebellion and treason.”

“A fair point...” Ned thought for a moment, an idea coming to mind. “Robert hunt, I know he’s invited you to it. You’d be away from the capital and any prying spies. Being that far out will give him time to calm down over this shocking news and you to reason with him.”

“Still a gamble.”

“Yet his authority would be the swiftest and just way to settle this matter.”

For a while Geralt was quiet, thinking over everything. He hated how limited and risky this was becoming. No doubt Ned understood that which was why he was pushing for more official actions.”

“Fine I’ll do it.” He muttered back. “Yet be ready for anything when we do come back.”

“I pray that we will be prepared for this. You still have a few days until the hunt, give us time to think over how to handle this. For now we just follow our usual duties…”

The Witcher nodded in agreement. “Then we play our parts.” He’d turnabout for the door, feeling there was nothing left to say. For once he felt goodbye wasn’t fitting for this moment and it seemed Ned agreed from the look on his face.

“Aye…that we do.”

Passing through the heavy door out of the office, it slam shut as events were now set, reaching a point of no return.

**…**


	21. Season 1 Episode 20: The King's Hunt - Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tensions build as the dark secrets of Jaime conflict with Geralt's growing respect for the skilled knight. Leaving the schemes of the Red Keep behind, Robert's fateful hunt takes place, though events take a different twist instead. In turn shadowy forces make their move, with new enemies that can threaten even the Witcher himself.

**Chapter 20: The King's Hunt - Part 1**

**...**

The next few days Geralt focused on his usual routine throughout the Red Keep. He did spend more time training Arya along with Syrio, honing her dueling skills at double the pace. If anything the girl seemed more focused after the tournament, wanting to accomplish the same feats the Witcher had done. Again she shared the same spirit Ciri had, which in turned improved his own mood with the difficult times coming ahead.

Soon the day of the hunt arrived and Geralt made sure to prepare himself. He knew they’d be heading off to the Kingswood, a vast forest to the south which was used as the royal hunting grounds. It was within a day’s ride, yet from what the page had told him Robert wished to stay within the woods for at least a night and day.

Donning his Witcher armor and swords along his hand crossbow and quiver. He’d pack away a selection of bombs and potions, basic ones for any emergencies. It was good to be more equip beyond just his swords though he hoped he wouldn’t have to use his more exotic tools. Fully packed for the trip, he’d make his way for the courtyard where the gathering party would be. Making his way for the main hall, Geralt slowed as he’d see King Robert, Renly and the whole King’s Guard leaving out the throne room, Barristan chatting beside his Lord while Jaime followed close behind.

Robert and Renly were both dressed for travel, having traded their more regal clothes for fine sturdy leathers. It was perhaps the first time Geralt had seen the two dressed so normally considering their high positions in the court.

The Jaime seemed to have recovered from his injuries as he stood tall in his golden armor. The right side of his face was healing well, still covered by a bandage with edges of the injury showing smooth scarring. It no doubt take a month to see how it look although Geralt could tell it leave a clear mark in the end.

Approaching the group, everyone’s attention shifted to the Witcher, Robert giving a big grin seeing how well armed the man was. “Hah! So is this how you usually look when you go on a hunt?”

“Usually my prey are fiercer then stags and boars.” Geralt simply answered back.

“Going to have to tell me more of these ‘monsters’ you hunt in your country, they must be quite the challenge to require such weapons.” Looking to Renly and Barristan, he’d nod for the doors. “Anyway day light is burning. Sun may be low now, yet I want to be in the Kingswood and camp set before midday!”

The group moved out to leave, rest of the King’s Guard going their separate ways since their Commander was going to be watching Robert on this occasion. However Geralt quickly noticed Jaime remained behind, making the Witcher stop following after Robert’s group.

Looking at the young knight, Geralt remembered that this was the man who had crippled Bran, who put all these events into motion. Despite it all he felt a strange confliction, there was lingering respect that he couldn’t deny after their battle days ago. It was frustrating really, but he kept composed as he showed no real emotion on his face as he approached Jaime.

“Doing alright?”

Jaime smirked at the remark, nodding his head as one hand touched his bandaged cheek. “Humbled really. I can say this was the first duel where I truly met my match despite all my plans and efforts.”

“You were well prepared, something most don’t do when facing a difficult opponent.” Geralt answered back. “You pushed he further than most, an accomplishment that you should be proud of.”

“Sounds like worthy praise when you put it that way. Guess I can say I was the man who nearly bested the White Wolf.”

Geralt couldn’t help but chuckle at the man’s jesting tone. “At least you’ll never forget with that scar. Trust me, I never do with the ones I’ve earned.”

Jaime nodded, an amused smile on his face, though for a moment the Witcher could see an odd hint in the man’s eyes. It seemed to be…guilt, just the small way his gaze shifted away from the Witcher. “One day I hope we will battle again. You’ve given me a lot to think about…” He’d offer one up hand to shake, making Geralt gaze downward.

For a moment the Witcher hesitated from his conflicting emotions. Jaime could tell something was wrong as he noted Geralt stance becoming tense, a questioning look showing on the knight’s face. However a booming voice from the grand doorway called out, snapping both men to attention.

“Enough chatting Geralt! Hurry up or I’ll have you dragged all the way to the woods!” Robert yelled out.

With the tension broken, Geralt relaxed as he’d turn away from Jaime to face the doorway to the courtyard. “I best go, rather not frustrate the King so early in the day.”

There was still a troubled look on the knight’s face as he nod in agreement. “True…keep a close eye on him Witcher.” Jaime gave a short respectful nod before stepping away, only to suddenly stop to speak a bit more. “When you return there is something I want to tell you. Something I feel you should know…”

Already the Witcher had an idea what Jaime meant, but didn’t say anything back as he let the Lannister march off down one hallway. Taking a low breath to calm himself, Geralt headed out to the courtyard were everyone else was waiting. There was a small group of servants, Lancel being among them, were set on wagon packed with camping and hunting supplies, along with a couple guards for added protection. Nearby, Roach was being handled by a squire who handed the reins to the Witcher so he could mount up. Robert glanced over the gathering party before gesturing towards the gates.

“Forward! To the King’s Gate to the south. Guards, make sure the morning crowd doesn’t slow us down. Want to give the people a good show without them hindering us.”

The ride through the city went by smoothly as the royal hunting party with only a small crowd paying much attention to them. Robert kept the group going, waving to a few people who called out to him while the guards kept anyone from getting in the way. At times though someone spoke out for Renly and Geralt, more often his nick name the White Wolf. Renly would give a charming smile to those who called for his attention, although the Witcher wasn’t as active as he’d give a small nod or glance to the onlookers.

Soon they’d reach the King’s Gate which was the simplest looking of the city entrances when compared to the others, making him guess it was one of the original gateways into the city. The party continued southward, crossing a wide stone bridge of the King’s Road that stretched over the wide Blackwater Rush. Robert would be chatting with his younger brother for a while, giving a deep chuckle as Renly gave an annoyed look before slowing his horse to stop riding alongside the King.

“Sibling differences I take?” Geralt questioned as he neared Renly.

“More of his boasting nature. It’s tiring to keep hearing him praise about his accomplishments during the Rebellion and all his hunts. If anything it’s a bit sad…”

“Him clinging to the glory days. I’ve seen it before. Still he seems to have kept peace well enough despite the debt that has built up behind the scenes.”

Renly nodded. “He and I may have different views on many matters when it comes to running the country. I give advice and in turn hope he uses it. I only wish Joffrey won’t be next in line though…if anything the traditional line of succession is outdated.”

“That is a bold thought to share.” Geralt remarked, curious at what the young noble was saying.

“You’re not an ordinary individual Geralt, you are far more open minded then most. Surely you’d agree that a leader should be chosen by merit and co of the people. Too often have we handed the role of ruler to a madman or warmonger, only because they were born to the ruling family. Aerys is such an example, a decent king in the early years before madness ruined him.”

“All fair points and one I agree. However I doubt such a change will happen anytime soon time.”

“Perhaps, yet your approval give me confidence at the least.” Renly chuckled. “Many respect you for martial prowess, yet Lord Stark and I see the greater value in your common sense and wisdom.”

“Flattering compliments sire.”

“You’re welcome.”

By now the Kingswood was in sight, a vast stretch of dense woodlands that was unlike anything Geralt had seen back home. While Velen had plenty of forest, it was often split apart by roads, swamps and the destruction of war. If monsters existed in this world he was certain these woods would be prime grounds of such creatures to live and breed in, secluded considering how unpopulated the region was around the wide forest. It be an hour of riding until the party reached the woods and half an hour until they had traveled deep enough.

“Far enough! Men, set the camp off the side of the road while the rest of us begin our hunt. Get the skinning table set up first before everything else.” Robert ordered as he’d come to a stop, getting off his horse and handing it off to a servant.

Everyone else did the same, dismounting and letting the servants get the horses safely tied up nearby in a grassy area. Geralt stretched a bit as he’d watch the camp quickly get set up as the cart was unloaded before focusing on the rest of the royal party.

Already Robert and Renly was handed boar spears before the King spoke out. “Let’s see what we can catch today. Witcher, I’d like you at my side, want to see your famous tracking skills up close.”

Geralt guessed Ned must have shared the story of how he deduced the events of the dead direwolf and stag. “As you wish your grace.” Moving up Lancel offer up a board spear to him, shaking his head as he refused the weapon.

The group began their march away from the camp, taking a side trail leading deeper into the woods. Geralt was close beside Robert while Renly followed just behind, while Barristan and Lancel was at the back, carrying extra supplies for everyone.

“So Geralt, tell me about the beasts you hunt, these monsters you slay.”

“Can say most aren’t like your usual beasts sire. Can say one of the fiercest creatures has always been a chort or their larger cousins the fiends.”

“What are they like?”

Geralt paused to think for a moment before answering. “Imagine a beast the size of a carriage with the thick muscular body that could crush a bear. Claws on the front end and solid hooves on the back. Head is like a goat or warped stag often with the accustomed horns for the type. Oddest feature is a third eye that many claim can hypnotize others, although it’s just superstition.”

Robert gaze quite the puzzled look before grinning and chuckling. “Heh, if such beasts exist back home I can see why they trained men like you. Sounds a lot like the things rumor live in Essos really.” The man sighed as he’d shake his head a bit. “Wish I could have gone off to see such things...be a thrill to hunt a creature like that.”

“I’d be hesitant on that sire. Seen even a juvenile chort kill half of an experienced hunting party before they took it down.”

“Well lucky I’m no ordinary hunter.” Robert jested back. “You do live the life Geralt, traveling across the world, hunting and fighting along the way. If war had never happened I’d probably have done the same.”

Lancel suddenly moved up to the two with a heavy waterskin, speaking up to just interrupt. “Wine your grace?”

“Aye. Always good to have a drink early in the hunt.” The man chuckled as he’d take a deep drink from it before offering some to Geralt.

The Witcher didn’t refuse, if anything he needed something to help relax during the trek. Taking a sip, he’d recognize the taste of the drink being the same strong wine Robert had shared back at his tent during the tournament. Handing the skin back, Lancel retreat back to the back of the line before Robert spoke up.

“Slow down…think I see something.”

Indeed there was marking in the dirt, large and rough tracks fitting of a big boar. Already Geralt crouched down as he’d focus his sharp eyes to the ground, noting how the trail started off from the dense underbrush before scrapping a tree as a territorial mark before heading down the trail.

“Big one. At least a grand old boar, maybe eight or ten years in age.” Geralt muttered.

“Quite the prime age.” Renly remarked as he’d step closer. “Going to have to be mindful with tracking it.”

“Heh, boars this age have no fear. If we get close enough the boar will come to us instead of run.” Robert chuckled eagerly, hefting up his spear. “Let’s keep going. Can’t have gone too far.”

The group resumed the match with Geralt taking more of a lead, yellow cat like eyes keeping track of the boar’s trail. Robert was quiet for a while, watching the Witcher closely.

“Anyway I miss the simpler times Geralt. Enemies were right in front of you, vicious and bloody inviting you to face them. Nothing like today…”

“Sounds exhilarating.” Renly remarked back offhandedly.

“Exhilarating yes! Not like those balls and masquerades you like to throw!” Robert gave a deep chuckle of amusement, although his brother’s sour expression was quite the opposite. Lancel again moved forward, offering the wineskin again to Robert who took a short drink with a pleased sigh. “So Geralt, enjoyed any Northerner or Riverland women yet?”

“Haven’t had the time sire.” The Witcher muttered back dismissively.

“Heh, back in my day we had a little right of manhood were you had to fuck one girl from each of the Seven Kingdoms and the Riverlands. We used to call it making the eight!”

“Those must have been some lucky girls…” Renly remarked back, hinting mockery in his tone.

Robert seemed to ignore his brother’s words though. “You ever make the eight Barristan?”

Geralt couldn’t help but glance back as the Lord Commander seemed stoic as ever with the calm expression on his face. “I don’t believe so your grace.” He’d answer back formally.

Again the king laughed out loudly at the commander’s remark. “Ah those were the days.”

Suddenly Renly had a look of frustration cross his face as he’d suddenly speak up. “Which days exactly?  
He’d firmly plant the end of his spear into the ground, making everyone behind him come to a sudden stop. Robert turned to look at his younger brother, a stern look showing in his eyes. “The one were one half of Westeros fought the other and millions died? Or before that when the Mad King slaughtered women and babies because the voices in his head told him they deserved it? Or way before that when dragons burned whole cities to the ground!?”

Everyone seemed taken aback at Renly’s words, even Geralt as the young noble and Robert had a tense stare down. The King gripped his boar spear tightly before speaking back. “Easy boy…you may be my brother but you’re speaking to your king.”

Renly seemed ready to snap back, showing tell this was only going to get worse. “Sires. Hate to break up the family feud, but something is close.” The Witcher spoke up, silencing the younger noble before their spat got out of hand.

There was a long pause, Robert seeming to forget the argument as his attention returned to the hunt. Lancel seemed oddly nervous as he glanced about before moving towards Robert. “Ah…more wine before-”

“The King has had enough to drink.” Geralt muttered back. “Save it for after the kill.”

The Witcher expected the King to argue back yet the man remained silent. Perhaps the small lesson on the day of the Melee had left an impression with the man. “Big…something big is lurking.” The man muttered.

Indeed there was a heavy rustling nearby and a deep squealing grunts that grew louder each time. Geralt moved one hand behind his back, gripping his crossbow while Renly and Robert took positions facing different directions. Barristan had a tense look in his eyes as he gripped his sword, that same alertness before the Melee showing once more.

Suddenly there was a fierce squeal as a massive boar, the biggest even Geralt had seen charged out from the thick brush. Nearly the size of the mountain in bulk and length, along with having massive gnarled tusks that could gore muscle and rip leather with ease. Lancel yelped out in shock as he leaped aside, while Robert and Renly turned about, spear aimed low in a bracing stance.

“Come on you old pig!” Robert growled out while Barristan and Geralt dodged aside, knowing the boar spears be more effective than their swords. The boar blindly rushed at those two spears, Renly’s being knocked aside by the thrashing head, nicking across the boar’s muscular neck while staggering the young man away. The king however had his spear drive into the beast’s chest, the spear sinking deep into thick muscle and flesh.

Despite the deep wound the boar was unyielding as it struggle and push forward, making Robert slide back as he put all his heavy weight against the beast. The rough terrain made it hard for the large man to keep his footing as a thick overgrown root had him tumble back, cursing out as he landed roughly onto his back. With the spear still stuck in, the boar squealed as it rushed at Robert, who quickly drew out a large hunting knife to defend himself.

At this point Geralt took action as he drew and fired his crossbow in one fluid move, the bolt flying right into the beast’s left eye. The overgrown animal squealed in pain as it was blinded, disrupting its charge as it turned away from Robert. Renly had recovered as he’d give a yell, stabbing into the boar’s side, slowing the animal even more as he’d twisted the spear about. The boar thrashed about, trying to get at Renly who was barely keeping his own footing.

Robert took this chance to pull himself up and lunge at the boar, giving a fierce battle cry as he grabbed at one of gnarled tusks, showing a shocking burst of strength as he’d yank the beast’s head about. With a roar he’d drive his knife into the boar’s skull. It was a lethal wound, but the mindless beast seemed dead set on trying to take the King down with it. Geralt fired another shot at the gashed wound Renly had left earlier across the neck, piercing through the thick fur and hide. The boar recoiling in pain, giving Robert the chance to stab again and twist the knife about. The boar give a mournful groan before it at last slumped down dead at last. Robert shuffled back panting, leaving his knife embedded in the boar’s skull while everyone gathered up around the massive beast.

For a long moment no one said anything as they glanced between each other and the slain beast, until Robert gave a deep laugh and victorious cry. “Hah! I still got it. Haven’t stared death in the eye for so long…” Taking a deep breath, he’d rub his sweaty face and gruff beard as he’d glance at Renly. “Renly…you’re damn soft at times but you saved my ass there. Consider us even over that argument, just don’t do that again.” His gaze then shifted to Geralt. “Thank as well. Damn good shot going for the eye and neck. Seems you are full of tricks Witcher.”

Renly shook his head, smirking a bit as he seemed a bit amused with his brother’s remark. Whatever tension that had built up from their earlier argument was gone for the moment. “Fine…even then.” He’d muttered, taking a deep sigh as he’d catch his breath.

“Crazy of you to grapple a boar like that, much less with one hand.” Geralt remarked. “Guess you got some fire left in you sire.”

“Heh, under a layer of fat and sagging muscle.” The Robert chuckled as he’d step up to yank his knife out of the boar’s skull with a bit of effort. “Either I need to thin down or hang up the spear. Been any slower that thing would have gored my guts out.”

“It was a close call your grace.” Barristan remarked. “I feel I should have intervened at the least.”

“Bah don’t worry yourself Barristan. Your job is to fight off assassins, not old wild boars.” By now Lancel would peek out from his hiding spot, quickly being noticed by Robert. “And you boy. Best hope you got strong arms and a sturdy back because you’ll be helping drag this thing all the way back to camp.”  
Geralt couldn’t help but smirk in amusement as the squire give such a troubled look from the order, although he’d nod his head as he’d rejoin the group. “As you wish sir…” He’d offer up the wineskin which the King snatched up before taking a deep gulp from, giving a pleased sigh as he’d savoir the drink and his victorious kill.

**…**

The walk back to camp took twice as long as the group struggled to drag the giant boar back. Even with Geralt helping out, the sheer bulk of the animal was just too difficult to heft about. Renly was sent ahead to get more men, who’d arrive when the group was half way there. Soon everyone was back in the camp and the boar set on a massive table in a large tent to be skinned and chopped up.

Geralt took the time to get some water after the long trek before check up on Robert, thinking this may be the best chance to talk privately with the man. Entering the main tent, the Witcher found Robert already cutting his knife deeply into the boar as he’d carefully work on gutting the creature while Lancel stood by with a wooden bucket to collect the gory entrails.

“Mind the bladder boy. That thing’s burst and you’ll stick of boar piss for a week.” Robert warned has he’d hand over bodily sack to the squire, who seemed pale with gross details. The King’s attention shifted to Geralt when he stepped in, giving a big welcoming smile to the Witcher. “Come to help Witcher? If anything Lancel here looks like he’ll need a bucket for his own guts.”

“A-Amusing your grace.” The squire muttered, seeming a bit green with nausea.

Robert sighed and shook his head. “If a gutted pig has you this sick, you’ll never have the balls to slice a man in a real battle. Get those guts thrown out and gather up some water, going to need plenty to cleaning up here.”

“But the nearest stream is…”

“Far off…which means you best get moving then!”

Lancel quickly nodded before he’d hurry off, nearly fumbling with the gut filled bucket as he left the tent. Geralt stepped up beside the skinning table as Robert continued his knife work, grunting and cursing as the hide was held tightly together by the dense muscle.

“Think you’re being a bit too tough on the squire?” Geralt questioned.

“Have to be. Show him being a…ugh…knight isn’t as simple as it looks. Need’s to understand there is hard work and commitment to matter how lowly the task is.” Robert muttered back between cuts.

“Fair point.” For a while the Witcher just silently watched the King cut away at the boar body before speaking. “Hide tougher than it looks.”

“Heh, should have scrounged up a valyrian steel knife from the vault…guh!” The knife got stuck in the thick muscle which forced him to roughly yank it out.

“Have a dagger, though it’s not really meant for this kind of work.” Geralt reached to his hip, holding up the sheathed curved dagger.

When Robert glanced at it, then did a double take, a hint of recognition showing in his eyes. “Where did you get that?” He questioned sharply.

“So you have seen this weapon before?”

“Aye. I won it a month before our trip to Winterfell during Joffrey’s naming day tourney. Lord Baelish betted it.”

“Huh…guess he wasn’t lying on that detail.” The Witcher remarked lowly.

Robert’s expression became more stern. “Again where did you get that dagger?” He demanded.

“Guess even Eddard didn’t tell you yet. This dagger was in the hands of some vagrant hired to murder Bran back in Winterfell. The man nearly killed the boy and Lady Stark with it.”

Confusion and shock now hinted the King’s eyes. “What? How can that be? I gave that thing to Joffrey day after his naming day…boy treasured that dagger over everything else.”

“So you admit Joffrey was the last owner of the dagger?”

“Aye. Now care to explain how some lowly assassin got hold of it?”

“If anything you just told me who gave it to him.”

Robert growled lowly, making Barristan tense slightly in the tent corner. “Watch yourself Geralt. You saved my life back there yet that doesn’t give you the right to say such things about my family!”

“I’m stating what the clues tell me sire.”

“What you’re imply is that my son tried to kill my best friend’s own child.”

“Because it’s damn obvious. I know the Starks have plenty of enemies, but do you really think any of them are this clumsy?” Geralt countered back. “Hiring a desperate criminal and arming him with a traceable dagger like this? Only a child would be foolish enough to do something like this.”

The explanation had Robert pause, glancing between Geralt and the dagger. “Why then? Joffrey didn’t even talk with the boy…has no reason to want him dead.”

“True. Yet the he doesn’t think reasonable like most kids his age.” The Witcher countered back. “Think back to the days after Bran’s fall. I remember a few people say you claimed the boy was better off dead considering his crippling.”

Again the King was silent, seeming to be thinking back to all those months. “I…may have said such things. Drink made me loose tongued with my thoughts.”

“Thoughts that Joffrey overheard. You may not show much attention to the boy, but he listens closely to everything you say. Overall he didn’t do it out of a cruel intent, only out of a lack of common sense.”

“I don’t want to believe it…” Robert muttered in a low voice.

At this point Geralt could tell there was conflict in the man’s mind, as if he had some knowledge that something was deeply wrong with Joffrey. This seemed like the right moment to give the full truth.

“I know this is a lot to take in, but there is more troubling news to share.”

Robert slam his fist against the table in showing frustration. “Damn it Geralt! I came out here to escape the stresses of court, not be drown in more intrigue!”

“Trust me, Lord Stark and I hate it just as much, but this is a matter that wasn’t safe to speak at the Red Keep. It involves Jon Arryn’s death and his activities beforehand. Mainly…” However Geralt paused, head tilting as he swore he heard something odd outside, a pained grunt that seemed out of place.

“Mainly what Witcher? Come on out with it!” Robert cursed, seeming not to realize something was wrong.

Barristan seemed to notice as well as he’d pace to the tent flap to glance outside as the servants seemed to speaking out in shock. At that point the old knight looked back at Geralt and his King, a dead serious look in his eyes. “Sire take cover now!”

Robert was confused yet Geralt didn’t hesitate as his sharp ears heard the whishing sound coming from above. Grabbing hold of King, dragging him down low just as arrows pierce through the tent top and sunk into the ground where they had just stood. Shocked and pained cries followed outside as the servants and guards were picked off by unseen archers. Barristan reached behind himself as he drew out a light heater shield. It was small enough to conceal onto his back and under his white cape without hindering his movement. He’d raise it over head to ward off more falling arrows before rolling forward under the table, armor hardly hindering him.

“Bloody hells is going on!?” Robert cursed as more arrows struck the table, the half-skinned boar and heavy wood shielding the three.

A few moment later the small rain of arrows stopped, as outside there low wailing cries of whoever had survived the barrage yet was wounded. For a long while the three men were silent, Geralt being the first to slowly crawl out from cover and towards the tent flap to peak out. Outside the guards and servants were strewn around the campgrounds, dead or dying from what he could tell. Scanning the area, he couldn’t see Renly, making him worry something had happened to him.

“Hello!” A male voice, middle-aged voice yelled out from the woods. “Robert? Glorious King Robert? Are you dead yet?”

Geralt glanced back at the table, seeing the King have a fierce look of anger across his face. However Barristan was muttering something to him, no doubt trying to calm him down.

“Either your dead or hiding…either way it doesn’t matter. I do know that Lord Commander Barristan and Ser Geralt though must surely be alive. I doubt two legends of the court would simply die in such a simple ambush.”

Neither man answered back, knowing better then to reveal their position to their unseen attackers.

After a long pause, the man continued to speak. “This is dull. If Robert is alive then hear this…Lord Viserys and Lady Daenerys sends their regards. The Targaryens never forget and always repay in fire and blood.”

A look of shock then pure rage crossed Robert’s face, the man giving a low growl of fury as he heard those words. Indeed Geralt was just as surprised, but didn’t let that distract him as he could hear heavy footsteps approaching, at least a dozen from what he could tell. Already the Witcher tensed as he’d brace one hand to the ground while the other reached for his steel sword, ready to lunge up and attack when an enemy was in sight. Already he was having doubts on who these men really were and their motives for attacking. Whoever they were they were numerous and well trained along with lacking any restraint on whoever got hurt or killed.

Barristan was prepared as well as he’d shift out from cover, drawing his own sword and holding up his shield. Already Geralt knew that the Lord Commander had no plans on holding back, since those eyes had a look of pure focus in them. “Your grace, leave this to us.” The older knight calmly stated.

“No…” Robert muttered as he’d stagger out of cover. “I’m not going to hide! For once I have an enemy out in the open…inviting me to face them like so many years before!” He’d glance about, cursing since there were no spare swords on hand, except the hunting and skinning tools on the table. Grabbing a hatchet, Robert glance between the Witcher and the Lord Commander. “Don’t care if these are pretenders or some thick-headed loyalists…no one attacks the King and gets away with it!”

“I get that you want to fight them, but we are outnumbered and surrounded. You’re safety comes before everything else.” The footsteps neared, the sound of blades being drawn being heard. A few pained cries followed as the men were finishing off the injured as they made their way towards the tent. “Barristan, you need to get the King into the woods. In the camp we’re too exposed to archers. I’ll draw their attention while you get Robert to cover.”

“I don’t plan on running off Witcher.” Robert growled before a sudden shock of realization hit him. “Oh gods…Renly…he was out there.”

Even Geralt had nearly forgotten about the younger Baratheon, making him curse lowly. “I’ll try to find him. Maybe he got to cover or was able to escape.”

“Let us hope.” Barristan muttered. “Time is up…they approach.”

**…**

At that moment everyone moved, Geralt lunging out as the first ambusher neared the tent flap. The man was gruff and plain looking, dressed in leather and chainmail fitting for infantry or a sellsword. A look of complete surprise crossed his face as the Witcher moved so inhumanly fast along with the fact Geralt’s steel blade had just cut right through his unprotected neck.

“By the Seven!” One of the other men yelled out in shock as their companion was instantly beheaded, leaving an opening for Geralt to rush in. The two other raiders could barely get their swords up to block the powerful blows the Witcher dealt, making them stagger about from the sheer force. Geralt took advantage of their weak guard as he’d slice across one man’s chest, rending his simple armor like it was paper. The other tried to lash out with an armored back hand, the Witcher simply side stepping and counter attacked, leading to howling cries and an arm flying through the air.

Geralt’s attention shifted to Barristan and Robert as they’d rush in the opposite direction, making a break for the dense woods. The Lord Commander cut through any raider with ease, parrying blows with his shield before following up with a lethal stab or slash, even taking a head off one attacker. Age seemingly hadn’t slowed or weakened him in the slightest from what the Witcher could tell.

Robert bellowed out threats and curses, following close behind Barristan and watching his flank, even though the knight needed no help. Still the King yelled as he’d swing his hatchet about at one raider who rushed in, catching the man by surprise as he’d split the man’s head with a deep cleave. “Hah! Gods I’ve missed this!” Robert laughed out, picking up the dead man’s mace before continuing to follow beside Barristan, heading to the north side of camp.

“Don’t just stand there! Shoot them!” It was the same voice who had delivered the speech from before, no doubt the ambush party leader. Geralt could just see some men in the west tree line, shortbows at the ready to shoot at Robert and Barristan.

With the archers in view, Geralt armed his bomb and threw it out at the camp edge, aimed to hit as many of the men as possible.

Soon there was a loud bang followed by a blindly flash then the pained cries of the raiders. “GUH! My eyes…ears…” One howled as everyone clutched at their faces, dazed from the explosion. Even while helpless Geralt showed no mercy as he’d lunge in, blade spinning and turning as he’d dice a bloody path through the raiders. Already he had counted at least eleven men so far between those he and Barristan had faced, although he wasn’t sure if there was more where the knight was heading. Eight more raiders charged in from the woods, yet when they saw their slaughtered companions they gave pause, espcally when Geralt’s yellow gaze fell on them.

“How in the hells?!” One muttered. “He’s just one man.”

“Yah…one who beat the Mountain and the Kingslayer.”

“Don’t believe that crap.”

“I do because I saw it!”

“All of you done talking?” Already Geralt paced closer, spinning his blade in one hand to flick off fresh blood. “Surrender and live or resist and join your friends. The choice is simple.”

One of the men at the back of the group suddenly turned to run off, the others glance back to watch him disappear into the brush. The rest shifted back, on guard and fearful as the Witcher neared. Seemed they were too thick headed to know they were outmatched.

“Gave you a chance.” He muttered before one of the leading men yelled and charged, sword overhead which left him exposed. The man didn’t stand a chance as he had enchanted steel pierce right through his gut and split through his spine, making him go limp in an instant. He did not pause as he withdrew his blade, body twisting about to dodge two raiders to attacked from the front and right side.

Three of the men tried to surround him, attacking from all sides wildly to try and overwhelm him. Compared to the knights from the tourney they were lacking in skill and tactics. One attack he parried before cleaving across the shoulder and chest, then turning about to slice through another raider’s belly when he tried an overhead attack. His stance shifted low to dodge one attack from behind, blade sweeping upward to slash from man hip to chin in one move. All three tumbled over dead, leaving the remaining three gawking in pure horror.

“Yield! Gods we yield!” One yelled as he tossed down his sword, the other two doing the same.

“Smart.” Geralt muttered before he’d notice someone behind the pleading men and some trees, a figure dressed in some worn red robes. Suddenly the figure tossed something at them which tumbled to land between the Witcher and the men. The thick smell of powder and smoke was all the warning Geralt needed as the bomb’s fuse quickly burned through.

“What the-?” One sellsword muttered in confusion before burning shrapnel shredded his gawking face.

The fierce explosion blew the three raiders into pieces as fire and metal flew about. It took all of Geralt’s honed reflexes to dodge away along with flex his fingers to make the Quen Sign, hoping it shield him from the blast. He just hoped the Sign wasn’t too weakened, else one side of his body would be mutilated by the bomb. The magic shield thankfully held, flaring as it absorbed the blast which flung him hard into a tree. The rough blow and landing winded him, though quickly recovered as he grabbed his dropped sword, ready for another attack.

Panting, he’d see the figure was gone, having disappeared during the chaos of the blast. Already he wondered who would use such a rare and deadly weapon, since bombs were limited to only a few knowledgeable groups in this world. Whoever it was they had nearly killed him if it weren’t for his Witcher abilities.

For now though it seemed the raiders had been wiped out or retreated. He’d return to the camp, needing to find Renly and see if anyone had survived the initial ambush. Pacing around the camp, he’d examine a few of the slain servants and guards, finding them all dead by arrows or stabs to the back. The horses were also gone, either spooked off from the fighting or let loose by the raiders to make sure no one could make a quick escape. Checking one of the raiders, he’d recognize they had a House emblem on the arm or shoulder, a red three headed dragon, the symbol of the Targaryen’s.

“Crudely done.” He muttered before yanking armor pierce off, touching the emblem to find the paint for it was just fresh. “Recent too.” He stopped speaking when he heard movement behind him, making him tense up and raise his sword. Moving closer to the supply wagon, he’d hear someone mutter from under it as he approached. “Is someone still alive?”

“Ugh…I am…” The familiar voice of Renly spoke out as the young noble crawled out of hiding, bruised and dirtied from what seemed to have been a rough fall.

Geralt relaxed, lowering his sword as he’d examine Renly more closely. “What happened? We heard the attack yet didn’t see what happened.”

“Archers. Seemed like over a dozen considering how many arrows flew.” Renly muttered as he glanced around the camp. “Just…one of the guards saved me. Pushed me down under the cart before an arrow got him in the side.” By now he’d noticed dismembered limbs of the men Geralt had killed, face paling at the gruesome sight. “Where’s Robert? Did they hurt him?”

“He and Barristan fled the camp. I just hope I took care of most of the ambushers so they could escape safely.” Picking up a sword, he’d offer it to Renly who took it, though he seemed too shaken to be good in a fight. “We should go, try to find Robert before any more trouble comes.”

“Right…right…” Renly nodded in agreement as he’d followed the Witcher through the camp.

Approaching the northern edge of the camp, they’d soon find a small trail of slain ambushers, no doubt Barristan’s work considering the lethal cuts and stabs across their forms. Focusing his senses as he’d pick out the two men’s trail, following along for a few long minutes. Soon Geralt could hear low voices, mainly Robert who was gave a low pained curse.

“I was careless damn it. Thought I hit him hard enough.” He’d hiss out.

“Happens to the best of us sire. You’ve suffered worse than this.” Barristan remarked back.

“Aye…I have.”

Geralt and Renly rounded a large grouping of trees to see the two men, Robert sitting back against one with a hand grasping at his belly, blood soaking over the cloth and leather. When the King saw his younger brother, he’d smirk with a thankful look hinted his eyes.

“Again you’re surprising me more and more brother. First the boar now arrows…tougher then you look.”

Renly shook his head, a grim look on his face. “An odd time to praise Robert. The servants dead and you’re injured…”

“Bah this is…mgh…nothing. Just stings…ugh…a little.”

Geralt gestured for Barristan to move aside as he’d crouch down, moving the King’s arm aside. “Deep stab wound. Going to need more then bandages for this. How did this happen.”

“Bashed one man in the head as we were retreating. Must have been tougher then he looked or my arm’s gotten that weak. Was just able to gut me before I cracked his head open properly…” Robert muttered.

“One wound is all it takes to end a live. May have reached your liver…or what’s left of it.”

“Heh…amusing Witcher.” Robert chuckled weakly.

The Witcher shifted away, looking to Barristan with a serious look. “I can stop the bleeding, but for every hour we delay the worse his condition will become.”

Suddenly there be a familiar voice of Lancel called out back in the direction of the camp. “Your grace! W-Witcher! Is anyone out there?”

“The bloody boy. Guess that little trip to the stream saved his hide.” Robert grunted.

“Quiet your grace.” Geralt remarked back before looking to Renly and Barristan. “Need to get back to camp and get him onto the cart. He’s too injured to ride on a horse safely, even if we had one for him.” Geralt looked to Renly and Barristan, nodding for them to help Robert up onto his feet.

“Going to take twice as long to return to the capital on foot, even longer if we have to pull the cart ourselves.” Barristan quickly stated.

“Have a plan for that. Let’s just get back.” Already Geralt was taking the lead, while Barristan and Renly carried Robert. Soon he’d see Lancel wandering through the woods, a worried look on his young face as he glanced about. “Everything alright squire?”

The boy flinched when he saw the Witcher, only relaxing when he noticed the rest of the group. “I just returned and…everyone…”

“Dead, I know. Self-proclaimed followers of the Targaryen’s attacked us.”

“Bastards…” Robert muttered before giving winced grunt of pain, silencing him.

“Overall you’re lucky Lancel. Stayed a few minutes longer and you may have been riddled with arrows.”

The squire seemed pale for a moment, nodding in agreement. “Ah…r-right sir.”

The whole group returned to the camp and headed for the supply cart which they clear off to lay Robert down on after getting some blankets to make things more comfortable. With that done Geralt whistled loudly out and after a few moments there be some movement coming to the south until Roach walked out from the forest.

“Where did…” Renly started.

“A one of a kind loyalty. You’d be surprise how far Roach has traveled to aid me.” Geralt answered casually back as he’d guide the horse to the cart front, getting the mare strapped up to carry the wounded King back to the city. “May not be use to carts but she’ll manage.”

“Guh…the boar…throw the boar in beside me.” Robert grumbled.

“Brother it’s just a damn pig.” Renly argued back as he’d climb in to sit beside the King. “We’ll have a party of guards to come back for it.”

“Nah…meat be bad by then. Fucking criminals…kill my men and rob me of my hunting prize.” However he’d quickly become quiet, seeming too tired to argue any further.

Lancel got up to the front of the cart to guide the horse forward while Gerlat and Barristan followed on foot to keep watch along the road if any more ambushers lurked about. Soon they were back on the King’s Road and heading northward for the capital. After a while though the Witcher glanced to the Lord Comannder, feeling it was time he spoke his mind after this attack.”

“The Targaryens didn’t plan this.” He said in a hushed voice.

“And I’d agree.” Barristan answered back.

“Not surprised really, but care to explain your reasons?”

“There is simply no one in Westeros who has any loyalty left to that family. They are all either dead, exiled to the corners of the world or have long lost their faith to the Targaryen line.”

“This was a set up. A ruse to kill the King…maybe us included.”

“Yet who?”

“Have some ideas…not sure if I should share them…”

At that moment the old man had a sharp look in his eyes. “Witcher I understand your secrecy yet keeping the truth from me doesn’t help anyone.”

“Maybe so…but you are a man who puts honor and loyalty to the royal family above all else considering how you let the last king do. How can I be sure you won’t repeat past mistakes?”

Barristan was silent, his gaze showed a hint of anger and guilt at the Witcher’s words. “I have always put duty before all else…it is all I’ve ever believed in when it came to knighthood.” Taking a deep sigh, he’d calm himself. “Yet in this case the King’s life is in danger and I know the threat is within the court itself.”

“It is. Jon Arryn was close to a conspiracy that would affected the future of Iron Throne. Led to him being killed for looking too far.”

“How far does this go?”

“To the top…the queen herself.”

“You can’t be serious…”

“I wish I wasn’t.” Geralt sighed, wishing he had told Robert sooner before the attack. Right now he knew he needed strong allies like Barristan on his side, honest men that he knew he could rely on. “Cersei’s children…their not Robert’s…”

**…**

The lone sellsword paused to catch his breath, glancing back to see that white-haired man hadn’t chased after him. “Shit…everything has gone to hell…” He muttered to himself as he’d continue along through the woods, heading to the gathering point the boss had planned. “The old man fucked up…said this be damn simple!” He’d arrive at a small clearing that over look the nearby King’s Road, the woods offering perfect cover to not be noticed. This was how the group had tracked the King’s approach along with seeing how much protection he had as well. Really they were just back up while their so called ‘man-on-the-inside’ tried a more subtler means of getting at the king. “That boy fucked up. How hard is it to get a man like Robert drunk!?”

  
A sudden branch snapping made him gasp in shock before turning about, short sword out. “Put that down sellsword.” A deep voice calmly mutter, words thick with a foreign accent that the mercenary knew was Dothraki. From the dense brush an imposing man dressed in a mix of boiled dark leather and light fur clothing. The simple choice of armor showed off the lands more foreign traits, copper dark skin and dense muscular body. At his back was a large scythe-like blade, the Arakh, the recognizable blade of the Dothraki raiders. The most striking feature of the Dothraki though was the large scar that went up the left side of his face, going across the eye which was a dull pale color unlike the deep blue of the other. His short cut black hair also lacked the braid all Dothraki warriors had, a hint that this one had committed a serious dishonor in the past.

  
“Where’s the old man, copper skin?” The sellsword growled, keeping his weapon up despite that warning.

  
Despite the man’s insult the Dothraki gave a small shrug before nodding back into the woods. “Tying up any loose ends.”

  
The simple answer had the man lower his blade and sheath it, pacing around nervously. “I knew that old knight and foreigner was good…but never thought they could take on so many at once.” He muttered to himself, still shocked a how fast that Witcher had moved.

  
“It shows that we shouldn’t have relied on amateurs.” An aged voice spoke out, smooth and well spoken. Moving into view to stand beside the Dothraki was the old man who the sellsword believed was nearing sixty. His face was thin and pale skinned with the chin having a well-kept dark goatee. Those deep green eyes stared calmly at the man, seeming hardly worried despite the complications that had happened. He wore a faded red robe over his slim figure, pouches and bottled mixtures strapped around his waist for easy access. Crowning the top of his thinning dark-haired head was a red cap, completing the recognizable outfit the Alchemists of King’s Landing wore. “The priority was Robert. If you had focused more of your men during his escape, we could have ensured his death.”

  
“What do you mean ensure? Also did any of my men survive?”

  
The old man paced down to the edge of the ridge, looking over the road. “One of the men got lucky and wounded the King. It could prove lethal, but there is no guarantee.” He’d pause in though, lightly stroking his goatee. “As for your men they are all dead. I killed the last few myself.”

  
“YOU WHAT!?” The sellsword drew his short sword in anger, rushing at the old man who seemed unfazed at being attacked. The Dothraki though reacted quicker as he’d lunge forward to grab the man’s sword arm, gripping it tightly and twisting at the wrist to disarm the sellsword. “Ugh! You bastards! I should have known…dealing with scum like you!”

  
“Heh, considering you were willing to kill the King for money. I think we know who is the real scum here.” The Dothraki chuckled, keeping the struggling sellsword in an arm lock.

“Ugh…and you two are no different?”

“Your men were a loose end. I couldn’t risk having them talk and expose us…or the employer.” At this point the alchemist turned to face him, a thin smile hinting his lips. “Also we are nothing alike. You fight for coin, but us we fight for an ideal. The betterment of all of Westeros, one step at a time.” He’d stop to stand before the mercenary, tugging on a red leather glove before reaching into one pouch at the hip. “Also, if I had Really wanted Robert dead I’d would've blown up his tent. Loud and messy, but effective. However the employer wanted us to pin it on the Targaryens, which was where your group came in.”

“So what was the point then? You did this to send a fucking message?!”

“In a manner of speaking. However I won’t bore you with the details…since it won’t matter to you.” He withdrew his hand from the pouch, a fine white powder just drifting away between his fingers. “Ogatto, please get the man on his knees.”

The Dothraki grinned before one strong leg struck the back of the sellsword, who’d grunt out as he forced down into the requested position.

“Thank you.”

“You’re making a mistake old man! You kill me and you’ll have the Brave Company hunting you down!” The man threatened, though panic hinted his words.

Despite the name of one of the most vicious mercenary companies in the known world, the alchemist gave an amused smirk. “I’m not worried. If anything I expect them too…and you’ll no doubt tell them yourself.” With that he tossed the powder into the man’s face, catching him by surprise as it also caught into his open eyes.

A shocked gasp escaped from him, eyes rapidly blinking and narrowing in they began red with irritation. That redness spread along his skin, which made him hiss out as the skin started to flake off. “Ughh…w-what the fuck did y-you do!?” His eyes were red, tearing up as he also started to cough. “Its…shit it’s burning! My eyes…AGHH!” He started to thrash about, Ogatto letting him go as he rubbed at his face, trying to scratch away the pain even as his skin was being peeled off while doing so.

“Hmm…curious. Need to balance out the mixtures used. The reaction is too violent…” The alchemist muttered, moving away from the crying man as he fell onto his back, grasping at his face. Calmly, he’d take out a black notebook and quickly write something down into it, glancing between the sellsword and his Dothraki companion. “Is our horses set for us?”

Ogatto nodded. “All prepared for the trip to the Riverlands. With the extra supplies and coin, we’ll have no trouble.” He’d look at the sellsword who was trembling in pain, body going into shock. “Will he die Zarin?”

The alchemist shrugged as he closed his book and slipped it back into the leather bag he carried. “Perhaps.” Picking out a bottle of water, he’d pour it down onto the man’s face, making him gasp out with some relief. “Still with me?”

The sellsword only gave a gasping whimper, face blooded and eyes swollen that they could barely open.

“Good. Now, I want you to go to your commander Vargo Hoat. Tell him that you have crossed paths with the Grims and that Red Cap sends his regards. He’ll understand…which means he’ll hopefully drag his ‘Brave’ Companions back to Essos where they belong.”

The name had a hint of surprise show on the man’s face, fear in fact that had him trembling. He tried to say something, but his swollen lips only let him gasp and mumble senselessly.

“Hah! You nearly made him piss himself Zarin just saying a few names.!” The Dothraki deeply laughed out as he’d follow the old man away from the clearing, leaving the sellsword to his fate. They’d soon reach their horses tied up close by, getting them loose and mounting up for the ride ahead. “So, not worried that our employer will be angry about this? She’ll not be pleased if Robert survived.”

“It matters little.” Zarin said with a shrug as they’d follow a trail, taking a more secluded northwestern route through the King’s Wood. “Let the nobles in King’s Landing scramble with their games. Those that are required will be in their proper places. When events fall into motion we’ll be the ones who are prepared.”

“Does that mean we’re getting the whole group together?”

The alchemist nodded. “The Grims been preparing for this time for twenty years.” Gripping the reins, he’d urge his horse to start off into a gallop, making Ogatto hurry after. “For me…I’ve been waiting all my life…”

**...**


	22. Season 1 Episode 21: In the Name of King Robert...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt and the King's hunt survivors rush back to King's Landing to save Robert's life from an assassin's blade to the gut. With tensions growing, Geralt and Eddard prepare for the worse. The Witcher at last confronts Jaime, a clash of conflicting values and respect between them. While some fates are changed, there are others that can never be truly escaped.

**Chapter 21: In the Name of King Robert…**  
**…**

  
The next few hours were tense as the survivors of the hunt hurried back to King’s Landing, going as quickly as they could without worsening the King’s injured condition. Geralt spent most the trip back quietly speaking with Barristan, sharing every details he had learned about Jon Arryn, the truth of Cersei’s children and the assassination attempt on Bran. The Lord Commander of the King’s Guard had a troubled look for each piece of information the Witcher shared. By the time everything was told, they were already nearing the city’s southern gates.

“You know what this means if you’re right.” Barristan muttered in a low voice.

“I do.” Geralt answered back calmly. “If the truth is revealed it could lead into another war, one that can be just as big as the Rebellion decades back.”

“Yet in being silent will put a false line on the throne…either in due time or through untimely means.” The knight finished. His gaze was set on Robert who was asleep at the moment, his body covered over with blankets and cloaks to hide him from passing commoners. There were still plenty of gazes drifting towards the group, considering Geralt and Barristan marching along.

“Do you really think the Queen could have planned this?”

“She has everything to gain from King Robert’s death. Her position in the court with be strengthened and Joffrey will be her puppet on the Iron Throne…if he can be controlled.”

“Yet the risks…”

“Ego and power does that. It was a risky move to make an attempt on the King’s life, even more with both of us at this side.” Already he wondered if that was a dual purpose, to kill anyone who could threaten the Lannisters.

“So what now? I swear by the Seven I won’t share what you have told me, but I question what you expect of me.”

“I expect nothing from you. Only that you do the right then when the time comes.” Geralt simply answered back as the city gate was in sight. “Right now let’s focus on saving the King’s life. I feel it be best that you speak with the guards and organize a quick route to the Red Keep. I’ll guard Robert and focus on getting his injury tended to.”

“It is my duty to guard him…” Barristan started.

“You forget that you can do more than swing a sword Barristan. Help get the Watch alerted, maybe even get a party to go back to the woods to collect evidence.”

In the end the old knight sighed and nodded, unable to argue with the logic behind the Witcher’s words. “Very well. I’m counting on you Geralt.” He’d hurry to the gate and quickly speak to the captain on watch, gesturing about as he gave a long set of orders. Soon the guards were off, heading into the city streets to alert the rest of the Watch along with direct civilians and travelers aside.

A Watch captain approached the group, giving a short bow before speaking. “Ser Geralt and Lord Renly! Please move forward! The main streets are being cleared, so make haste.”

“Thank you captain. I’ll see you rewarded for this.” Renly remarked back with a small nod while Geralt moved up to the front of the cart to sit beside Lancel, taking the reins from the squire.

“Let me take over. Speed is needed, and I can handle Roach better.” He explained, Lancel nodded in understanding. “Come on Roach!” Cracking the reins, the mare huffed as it quickly moved forward, riding through the city gates and up the main street. The way was clear as the city watch had the civilians away from the center of the street. People muttered out as they saw the Witcher driving the cart, curious at what was going on.

“Lord Renly!”

“Witcher!”

“Where’s the King? I saw them with the King!”

The comments drifted about as gossip spread, Geralt not letting the yammering distract him as he urged Roach onward at a faster pace. They’d quickly reach Fishmonger’s Square and then turned onto the Hook, an arching slopped streetway that lead directly to the Red Keep. It was tricky turn, one that the Witcher was just able to manage at their quick speed. They’d soon reach the hilltop and the looming Red Keep, arriving at the main gate.

The way was open with the Keep guards standing at the ready to guide the cart in and seal the gates behind them once they rushed through. Circling about the courtyard to be near the main doors of the Keep, Geralt would see a small crowd of familiar faces gathered up. All the King’s Guard, Lord Stark, Varys, Queen Cersei and Lord Tywin.

Lord Tywin was speaking with Ned, a serious look on his face as the two muttered to each other. Cersei stood by trying to overhear what they were saying, snapped her attention towards the cart once it stopped. Varys stood by calmly, arms folded into the loose sleeves of his robes, gaze having a thoughtful look. With the cart still, Renly and Geralt were quick to hop off while the King’s Guard hurried forward, surrounding their injured King.

“The King has been wounded. Assassins ambushed us after the hunt.” Geralt quickly stated in a calm manner.

“We know. The messenger was detailed.” Jaime replied, a tense look on his face. “The Grand Maester is ready to tend to the King, let’s get him inside quickly!”

The other members of the Guard stepped up, each one carefully lifting Robert from the cart while Jaime directing them inside, taking leadership in Barristan’s absence. It showed just how strong the gold armored knights were to heft up the larger man, even more to carry him into the Keep with such speed and care. Cersei would follow behind them into the Keep, her face quite calm and passive despite the dire state of her husband.

Geralt moved to follow them yet Eddard and Tywin were quick to get in his way, already demanding answers.

“These assassins. Who exactly where they?” Tywin calmly demanded.

“Mercenaries disguised a Targaryen loyalists. Their leader, who escaped, claimed they served Daenerys and Viserys.” The Witcher took out the leather armor piece, showing the rushed paint work done to make the three headed dragon mark. “The ambushers all died between me, Barristan and their leader who used some kind of bomb, nearly got me with it as well.”

Tywin took the armor pierce, examining it closely before handing it to Ned who checked it over as well.

“There is much to discuss on this matter Ser Geralt…” The older noble muttered.

“Indeed, however I should be tending to the King. I may not be a skilled in the medical arts, but I understand the extent of Robert’s injuries and how to get them properly treated.”

Tywin was silent for a moment before nodding in understanding. “Logical reasoning. Do your best to ensure King Robert’s survive…an untimely passing will be troubling.”

Nodding, Geralt moved to follow after the King’s Guard while Eddard tagged along, no doubt wishing to speak privately with the Witcher and keep an eye on his injured friend.

“Did you tell Robert?” He whispered.

“Was about to before the attack. Only got as far as revealing Joffrey as the one behind the attempt on Bran’s life.” Geralt answered back quietly.

“Bad luck. This will only complicate things.” Ned paused, a tense look in his eyes. “Do you feel she is behind this?”

Both men focused on Cersei as she rounded the next hallway corner, glancing just slightly before she shifted out of view. Geralt could sense a worry from her, it showed in her pose and gaze.

“From what I know she’s the prime suspect. Only she’d make such a rash and risky move.” Thinking for a moment, he felt a bit of doubt come to him. “Perhaps my remark to her cause this. She panicked and tried to kill me or Robert before the truth was revealed.”

Ned nodded in agreement. “It’s likely, yet we have nothing but speculation. We will have to wait and adapt to whatever happens.”

Soon they’d catch up to the Queen and King’s Guard as they entered the royal chambers, setting Robert down onto the massive bed which had been clear off it’s more lavish sheets for plain white linen. Pycelle was at the bedside, a large collection of medical tools, salves and herbs set on a table nearby. Once the knights had set Robert down, Geralt moved closer to the Grand Maester who’d shift closer to the panting King, an aged hand checking at the blood-soaked bandages.

“Heavy bleeding even with well-set b-bandages. Troubling…” The old man muttered while Geralt examined the gathered supplies.

“Single yet deep stab, may have just reached his liver.” Geralt calmly stated. “He’s going to need surgery to have a chance to survive.”

Pycelle nodded in agreement. “It will be a delicate matter, yet one I am trained for. Still I would be glad for your expertise on the matter, considering your umm…deep knowledge on the human body.”

“Sadly my medical skills are limited.” Glancing over the collection of bottled salves and mixtures, already seeing a few solutions to aid in the Grand Maester’s task. “

“What of your own elixirs Ser Geralt? I’ve heard among the court you have potions that can heal even deep wounds.” Cersei suddenly remarked, drawing the Witcher’s gaze to her. He should have expected someone to notice his potions and the fact he had recovered so quickly after then intense Melee.

“Out of the question. Even if the King was in his prime, a watered-down Swallow could still kill him or send him into a coma.”

“Curious…” Pycelle had a sharp look in his eyes at what the Witcher shared while he gathered up his tools, working on removing Robert’s leather hunting vest and cutting off his fine cloth shirt to expose the overweight man’s chest and wound.

“Just looking at the possibilities Witcher.” Cersei calmly stated. “My husband’s life is on the line after all.”

“Then trust in our judgement. For now I’d recommend you leave us so we can work in peace.” He’d turn back to the table of supplies, picking out a few salves which he’d pour into smaller containers, measuring the amounts before mixing them together.

Cersei didn’t answer back, only bowing her head slightly in respect before she’d pace out of the room. Jaime watched her leave, an odd worried look showing in his eyes as he seemed to sense something was wrong about his sister.

“Ser Trant will remain to guard the King while we manage the rest of the Keep. Need to make sure no other assassins try to trouble us.”

Geralt simply nodded in agreement before handing Pycelle the concoction he had made. “Have the King drink that. Will greatly numb the pain and relax him.”

Jaime paused for a moment, seeming wanting to speak some more yet realizing now was not the proper time. “Then we’ll take our leave. I wish the best of luck for both you and the Grand Maester.” He and the other King’s Guard left while Trant, the knight who had escorted Cersei from the tournament remained, standing attentively in one corner.

Pycelle would notice that Eddard moved to take a seat a nearby chair. “My lord…surely it be best if you left as well.”

Ned shook his head. “It is my duty as Hand to be at the King’s side during this moment. If his recovery is unlikely…I will need to write his last will and commands if he is able.”

The Grand Maester would give a small mumbling before focusing his attention back to Robert, picking up a tray with needle, tread and a scalp. “Very well Lord Stark. This will be a long p-procedure though…so expect to stay for a while.” Putting on a pair of fine gloves, he’d lean in as start examining the full extent of the injury and plan the best approach of stitching everything back together.

Geralt stood by to calmly watch once all the sedatives and disinfectant was made. While he trusted in Pycelle’s medical skills he didn’t trust the man himself considering his ties with the Lannisters, especially with Cersei. At the least under his observant gaze the old man wouldn’t try anything that could further threaten Robert’s life. Still even he knew the man’s chances were slim, though a chance was better than nothing.

“Going to be a long night indeed…” He muttered to himself.  
…  
Hours went by as Pycelle tended to Robert, who’d mutter and groan yet seemed stable enough. The dagger had just reached his liver, a grazing wound at the least. The Grand Maester did well to stitch up the wound after clearing out old blood and bile, a messy process considering. After the proper disinfectants and painkillers were added, stitching were done to steal up the stab wound, leaving a large mark behind. Once bandaged up, Pycelle gave a tired sigh as he’d move away from the bed, a visibly tired look in his eyes as he’d take off the bloodied gloves and set the tools back on the table.

“Been years since…since I’d done such a difficult procedure.” He muttered. “While the wound may be mended, the blood loss and internal stress may be too much for the King.”

“Agreed.” Geralt simply remarked as the Maester washed his hands from a large bowl of water. “I remember at Oxenfort, a university I visited in the past, they had been working on blood transfusions.”

“Transfusions? The Citadel was doing experiments on such things. It is a costly process and required very specialized tools. It was considered questionable to more conservative circles. I had left by the time the research on the matter was struggling to be maintained.”

“Transfusion is a key part of how Witchers like me were made, although the overall process has been loss. The researchers at the university were close to a breakthrough that could have saved a lot of lives, yet the war and Radovid’s policies stalled such knowledge from being used.”

“Err…shame…quite the shame…” Pycelle finished cleaning himself off along with the tools. “While an interesting subject, all we can do now is wait and hope our efforts are enough for the King.” Packing away the tools, the Grand Maester shuffled for the door out. “I’ll leave King Baratheon’s under your watchful care Ser Geralt and Lord Stark.”

The old man left the room, the door slamming heavily against the frame before Geralt gave a worn sigh. He’d glance to where Ned sat, the northerner rested back in his seat, eyes closed in a light sleep. Just approaching him woke Eddard up, eyes alert for a moment before realizing it was the Witcher. Quickly his gaze shifted to Robert, seeing the fresh bandages over his wounded side.

“He lives?”

“For now.” Geralt calmly stated. “His body isn’t what it used to be, but he’s far tougher then he looks.”

Ned smirked at the remark which was short lived. “He was known for his endurance back when we were young. Guess a bit of that remains.” Standing up, he’d move to the bedside and look at Robert, the sleeping King’s face more peaceful then before. “Despite how often we disagree and argue, we’re still friends, he and I.” Sighing, he’d shake his head a bit. “I wonder…maybe if I had been at his side after the Rebellion…things could have been different.”

“What is done is done.” Geralt simply stated. “We can predict what could have happened, only figure out the best course ahead. His gaze did shift to Trant who stood on guard, although there was an obvious bored look on the knight’s face.

Ned glanced at the knight as well, knowing they had to be careful over what they said with him close by. “You don’t have to remain here. If anything I need you to work with Ser Barristan and the King’s Guard to learn everything about the attack.” Ned muttered in a low voice.

“I told the Lord Commander to send men back to the King’s Wood to gather the bodies and look for clues. Doubt they will learn much…corpses don’t often tell many secrets.”

“Which is why you should be involved, because you can see details others cannot.”

“Robert may need my attention…both for his injury and his protection.”

“I don’t disagree. However the longer you’re distracted the chances of finding proof become slimmer. Leave Robert’s protection to me and the King’s Guard…at least…those I hope we can trust.” Ned whispered the last few words, again giving a wary glance to Trant.

Geralt thought over Eddard’s words, feeling that leaving the King unguarded was a risk. “You are right though…” He’d mutter back. “As Hand, authority is in your favor with the King injured like this. Use what resources and influence you can to ensure he’s safe.”

“I plan to.”

“One detail to explain, his treatment.” The Witcher moved to the nearby table were the mixed medicine was set by. “Make sure that he is given the proper doses. Small cup every six to eight hours to dull the pain. Ensure he has plenty of water as well. Besides that, call me here if he wakes up so I can talk to him over what happened.”

“Simple instructions to follow. I’ll remember them well and share them with any other caretakers.”

“Good. Again, be mindful of the dosage.” He’d turn to leave, giving a small nod for Ser Trant. As he reached the door though, Ned spoke up.

"Tell Arya and Sansa I’ll be busy for the next few days. Also…please watch them closely.”

Geralt simply nodded back before leave the room, making sure to shut the door behind him. Yet before he even could take another step, his sharp ears heard a shuffling down the nearby corner of the hallway, making him glance over to see the colorful robes of Varys.

“Keeping an eye on your King?” The Witcher calmly asked.

“Partly. I was waiting for you really, although if I had known you’d be in there for so long I’d gotten myself a chair.” The chubby spymaster answered back, voice always formal even with that sarcastic remark.

Geralt didn’t show a hint of amusement at the jest. “So what do you want to talk about?”

Varys gestured down the hall though, not answering at first. “It be best we speak on the move. I’d rather not stay here any longer.”

The Witcher didn’t argue as he’d follow the spymaster along, heading down a long corridor. “So what is happening outside and within the Keep?”

“Worry really. The commoners fear for the wellbeing of their King while the nobility wonder who will be in line for the throne.”

“They assume Joffrey won’t claim it immediately?”

“The prince is still young and inexperienced. If Lord Baratheon is able to make his final commands, he’ll doubt place Lord Stark as Lord Regent until the boy is of proper age and temperament…unless deemed otherwise.”

“Such as the truth of his real parentage? I wonder…how long have you known? You’re the one who pressured me to follow Lord Arryn’s trail, so it’s obvious you must have done a little snooping yourself.”

“A bit, if only to confirm my own suspicions.”

“So then why rely on me and Lord Stark to find the truth? If you’ve known for months already why haven’t you told the King?”

“Because you know very well the crisis that break out if he accepted the truth. It be the Rebellion all over again…” He’d pause, gaze shifting as he seemed to think back to those troubling years. “You know that they won’t stop. Those who planned the attack on the King will keep trying and they will succeed.”

“You are that certain?” He said that more by reaction, even though he knew Cersei’s persistent and ambitious nature was reason enough.

“We all must be mindful for Lord Baratheon’s safety now, considering the leader of those mercenaries you faced. Your survival is quite astounding really.”

Geralt had shared the details about the robed man he had saw to Barristan, who had no doubt informed others as well. “Care to explain who exactly I faced?”

“A wanted criminal from the Rebellion years, a rogue alchemist by the name of Zarin. He was the Alchemist Guild’s most innovative student who had mastered Wild Fire within just his first year and had begun work on new creations.” Varys calmly explained. “Explosives, poisons and drugs. His constant experimenting was considering extreme by the elder members of the guild, yet Aery’s was always fascinated by his work. Late in the war, Zarin wished to create a unit of battle alchemist to bombard infantry, sabotage structures and poison resources. Nothing was out of bounds to him, so long as it led to victory or furthering his work.”

“He’d fit right in with Nilfgaard. A lot of their inventors are just as ruthless.” Geralt remarked. “The bomb he used against me was more powerful than anything I’ve created. I wonder…surely his work would have turned the war around in Aerys favor.”

“Which I agree, however the tide of war was too swift and soon Lord Baratheon was besieging King’s Landing. I do know that Zarin was working alongside the grandmaster of the alchemists, Rossart, on some secret weapon. Whatever it was though it was never used or lost when Ser Jaime killed the grandmaster along with Aerys.”

“Yet Zarin avoided death or imprisonment”

“The man knew Lord Tywin was going to betray Aerys and that his ties with the former king would be the end of him. Ever since his disappearance, a notable bounty has been placed on his head, yet no one has ever claimed it.” Pacing slightly, Varys had a thoughtful look cross his face. “For years I thought he felt to Essos to further his studies and hide away, yet it seems he has returned, although for how long I’m not certain.”

“You’re saying this man is cunning enough to elude even you?”

Varys gaze narrowed slightly at the remark. “My network is vast, not omnipotent. Zarin never leaves any loose ends as you have seen personally.”

“I take you have plans on capturing him?”

“Beyond simply renewing his bounty and notifying my informants. I doubt he will make another attempt on the King’s life although you’d best watch yourself…that man will never forget someone like you foiling his plans.”

“Not a first for me. Still I’ll be careful.” Geralt paused for the moment. “Right now it matter how we will deal with the enemies before us. More importantly…what do you plan to do?”

For a moment the spymaster didn’t speak, giving a soft smile on his face. “To act when it’s best suited.”

Geralt sighed, tired of hearing that phrase especially from spies like Varys. “So that means no promises then.”

“My strong suit is in the shadows, not out in the open like you or Lord Stark. When the time comes you will learn the value of this.” The chubby man slipped both hands into his robe sleeves before giving a small bow. “Now, I feel I’ve taken enough of your time. You no doubt have other matters to attend to.” With that said, Varys turned to leave further down the corridor, disappearing out of sight as he turned one corner.

For a moment Geralt stood there, a tense look in his eyes before he’d give a small sigh. He wish he knew for certain Varys could be trusted, even if the Master of Whispers has been more helpful then a hindrance. Still his experience with spies had him on guard, knowing very well how such trust could quickly turn against you.

“Let’s hope you don’t end up like Dijkstra then…” Geralt muttered to himself before turning down a side passage, feeling it was best he’d check up on Ned’s daughters and tell them about what was going on.  
…  
The Tower of the Hand was just as well guarded as before, the men quite alert after the attack on the King. Still, he had no trouble going up to the guest rooms and was pointed to Arya’s room on the right side of the hall.

Knocking at the door, Geralt spoke up. “Arya, it’s me.”

“Come in!” The girl’s voice quickly answered back.

Opening the door, he’d see Arya was busy sheathing Needle as he’d tuck it under her bed. Turning about to face the Witcher she gave an ever-cheerful smile, although he’d see the worry hinting her wide eyes. “I…Um…was practicing…”

Geralt crossed his arms as the girl admitted what she was doing. “Didn’t Syrios and I tell you should only practice during our lessons?”

Arya glanced aside shyly. “I know but he stopped practice suddenly! I mean…a servant came in saying the King was hurt and…he had an odd look in his eyes, sort of like what you have when something serious happens.”

The Witcher was silent, already wondering what the duelist was doing right now. Out of all of Robert’s foreign guests he was still the most mysterious at least when it came to his past. However he was snapped out of his thoughts when again Arya spoke up.

“So what happened? Is Rob-…I mean the King doing alright? What about father?”

Geralt moved to sit in a nearby chair before answering back. “We were attacked by mercenaries after a hunt. One stabbed the King badly before we killed them all. Lord Baratheon is stable now but…can easily change in the next few days.” Sighing, he’d rub one hand along his chin, feeling over the scruff that had regrown over the weeks. “Your father is watching him now. Has to be at his side in case he has any last commands to give...” For a moment he paused, remembering the look on Ned’s face as he stared as his wounded friend. “It’s hard to manage seeing an old friend hurt like that.”

“Even if they always fight and argue?” Arya questioned, head tilted in a curious manner. “Seems odd for friends to do that.”

The girl’s remark drew a small chuckle from Geralt. “May seem strange, yet I’ve had such moments with longtime friends, mainly my fellow Witchers. We have our differences, but we’d always support each other in the end. Despite how long your father and the King have been apart, they still have a bond from all those years ago.”

“Then I hope he lives! May be a loud and lazy King, but he’s funny and friendly as well…better than that Joffrey.” She’d scoff at the boy’s name, eyes rolling slightly. “Sansa rushed off to see him and the Queen, said she wanted to try and comfort them or something.”

Geralt didn’t answer back at the mention of Joffrey, the Witcher still unsure how they’d deal with the false prince when the time came around. “He’s a troubled boy…but many who grow up into royalty are like that. Perhaps Sansa can soften his rude nature…although only time will tell.” He answered back, trying to play neutral on the subject.

Arya gave a small shrug, seeming disinterested on the matter. “Are we at least going to have practice tomorrow at least? I don’t want to keep cooped up in this room for the next few days!”

The Witcher thought for a moment before he’d give a small nod. “Course. No harm in catch up on your dueling lessons after so long.” If anything, she’d be safer at his and Syrio’s side then locked up in the tower.

An excited grin crossed Arya’s face before she sprung up on top of the bed to give a short bounce on top of it. “Thank you!”

“Don’t be too excited. Think it’s time for a test to see what you’ve learned, so expect to work hard tomorrow.”

A more serious look on her face, almost exactly like Ciri when she was around the same age. Quickly she’d drop back down to sit on the bed, seeming a bit embarrassed with overzealous reaction. “I won’t let you down.”

“Good. The usual time before lunch then. Best try to be early.” Shifting to stand up, he’d move for the door out. “Anyway, it is getting late and I have a few other matters to attend to.” Before he could leave out the door, Arya spoke up suddenly.  
“Umm…Geralt? One other thing.” She’d pause as he’d glance back at her. “If you see dad later on…tell him I said hi.”

“Of course. Be the first thing I’ll do.” With a small nod he’d leave the room, making sure to shut the door behind him before making his way down the tower. At the bottom he’d see Jory among the other northern guards, giving a small wave to him to get his attention.

“Anything new to report?”

The captain of the guard shook his head as he followed alongside the Witcher, heading out of the tower and into the main keep. “Lord Stark informed me about staying with the King. Having my best men be on watch at the door for added safety.”

“Good. We shouldn’t let our guard down, even in the Red Keep. Anything else?”

“Lord Tyrion did wish to speak with you. Originally it was about your prize money from the tourney, yet he no doubt has many questions about the assassination attempt.”

Geralt had nearly forgotten about the prize money, along with the deal he had made with the dwarf. Tyrion had no doubt been busy ever since the tournament ended. “Know where he would be?”

“His private chambers in the inner keep. I take you know the way?”

Nodding, Geralt moved to head down a different corridor while Jory stayed back. “Then I best head there. Keep up a close watch on Lady Cersei and her father, along with any of the knights or guards loyal to them.”

“Sound advice Witcher. Stay safe.” The captain watched the Witcher hurry off, feeling a hint of amusement at his remark. “If anything you’d have to be a mad man to threaten him.” Smirking, he’d head back to the Tower of the Hand, having to organize the men for any sudden orders.

  
...

  
It didn’t take Geralt long to reach Tyrion’s room, although he didn’t enter too quickly as he’d pause to listen for a moment, hearing the familiar voices of Tyrion and Bronn inside.

“Why are you so worried Tyrion? Robert lives and safe in his room, while all those assassins have been dealt with.” Bronn remarked, chuckling a bit. “Fucking idiots. Think they shit themselves seeing White Hairs and the leader of the King’s Guard charging out of that tent?”

“Amusing as that is, you should realize the issues this attack brings…” Tyrion muttered back, tone quite gravely serious. “Whoever did this won’t give up, not while the King clings to an inch of his life.” Geralt could hear his small feet pacing about, showing just how nervous the dwarf was. At that point the Witcher decided to knock, drawing a quick reaction from the Lannister. “Come in!”

Opening the door, Geralt would see Tyrion standing close by, the dwarf having a tired look in his eyes. Bronn sat at the nearby table, which had a few drained bottles of wines set on it, showing just how much the two had been drinking over the last few days. “Rough few days?” Geralt calmly questioned.

Tyrion nodded as he’d move for the table, filling up one cup of wine while picking up a half filled one that was his own. “Been going all over the city gathering up the bets I’ve made. A few have been…difficult to collect on. Mainly claim the odds were openly in your favor, yet that is noble arrogance for you.”

“Course a stern look and the hint of a dagger had them quickly agreeing.” Bronn added with a teasing evil grin. “Have to earn my keep after all.”

“Of course…although I wonder just how much you did win Tyrion.” Geralt questioned

The dwarf took a moment to gulp down his drink before a small smirk crossed his face. “One hundred thousand gold dragons. Not bad for a bit of gambling I say.”

Indeed, Geralt was impressed with the sum amount, although he wondered how even high nobility had such money to risk away. “So fifty thousand for me, considering our even split.”

Tyrion nodded slightly, although the Witcher could tell the dwarf hated parting with half of his winnings. “Lannister always pays his debts as they say.” However he’d pause as he’d tap his fingers at the side of his cup. “However there is a small matter about your…winnings from the Melee.”

The Witcher gaze quickly became stern at the sudden news. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t exactly have the prize money here at the Red Keep. You do know of crown being in debt…it just happens that the money owed to you is from the Iron Bank itself.”

“So you mean it’s in a deposit all the way in Essos…” He grumbled.

“Securely deposited! The money is all yours and I’ve made sure to manage all the paperwork…a…small pile of it.” Tyrion muttered unamusingly.

“So how exactly do I collect it? Do I have to sail all the way to Bravos and chat with the bankers directly?”

“It be the more assured manner to collect all your coin. However they do have agents in a few major keeps and cities such as here in King’s Landing.” Tyrion picked up a few papers set nearby, a few being dull legal documents although one page detailed key information on his fortune. “Best keep those papers safe or memorize the details.”

Geralt sighed before nodding, seeing this was a minor setback. “Guess it be difficult to carry all that coin and keep it safe.” Tucking the papers into one pocket, he’d move over to the chest Tyrion had pointed out earlier to check over the pouches of gold coins within it. He’d check through a few pouches just to be certain, even taking out a hand full of gold coins to closely examine. “Seems like it is all there. At least there is one Lannister I know who’ll pay me fairly.”

“Amusing as always Geralt.” Tyrion chuckled. “I’ll admit our partnership has done well for us both…surely we could-”

“Sadly no.” The Witcher interrupted. “While I appreciate the offer, I do have my own matters to settle.”

“You mean political issues.” Tyrion sighed. “Thought you claimed to be one to avoid such trouble.”

“Seems like I can’t avoid it…not after what has happened today.”

Tyrion stepped around the table, one hand tapping the side of his drinking cup. “You do know you’re treading into dangerous ground. I know you and Lord Stark are preparing for something, having organized those loyal so closely along with calling in men loyal to House Baratheon.”

“Because if Robert’s life is threatened then so can Lord Stark’s.” Geralt calmly stated. “Besides, the threat is a lot closer then you may think.”

“I have no doubts that the conspirers are among us here at the Keep…yet the look on your face tells me you know who they are.”

Geralt didn’t answer back, feeling it wasn’t safe to share the truth with Tyrion. While he was a Lannister, he doubted he was involved with his sister’s schemes, yet perhaps knew faintly about them.

The tense silence had Tyrion give out a sigh and bow his head slightly. “I don’t intent to stop whatever you and Lord Stark are planning, but I’ll warn you to be careful. When you play the game of thrones, you win or die. There is no middle ground.”

“A saying of your own making?”

“No…my sister’s, something she said she shared with Eddard earlier today.” He’d pause, gaze calm and dead serious. “I’m not stupid or blind, I know Cersei has much to gain from the attack on Robert, whether it by her own planning or taking advantage of an unknown threat.”

“Sounds like you don’t wish to see her accused.”

“Of course not. We may…dislike each other but in the end, she is family. I won’t defend her if she was behind this, I know better then to let her choices pull myself and the rest of the family down.”

Geralt was silent after hearing the dwarf’s answer, sensing he meant what he said although with a hint of hesitance. “Not concerned over what may happen to her?”

“No…because in the end I trust you will be just to even her. You may be one of the deadliest man in all of Westeros, but you have a better sense of mercy then most.”

The Witcher nodded as his gaze glanced to the door out, feeling there was little else to say. “Then I’ll consider that good favor from you. Trust me Tyrion, I’d rather avoid bloodshed.” Setting his cup at the table, he’d move to leave. “If you learn anything, please let me know.”

“Of course, Geralt. Be careful out there.”

Leaving the room, the Witcher decided it was time to go to his room for the night, the long and stressful day finally getting to him. With a deep sigh, he knew the next few days would be tense ones throughout the city and Red Keep. There were nagging self-doubts, part of him wishing he could ride off with his fortune and focus on Ciri, even if she was well beyond his reach. He’d then remember Bran laying across bloody rubble, thrown from that tower by someone he considered a worthy rival. He’d clench one fist, thinking he should track down and confront Jaime right then, but knew letting his emotions get the better of him now be a risk.

“Tomorrow…” He muttered as he reached his room, making sure to double lock his door for the night before going to bed.

  
**…**

  
Arya quickly side stepped as Geralt swung his practice sword at her, shuffling in as he kept the distance between them short. The girl had Needle in hand, focusing on using it for parrying and blocking instead of attacking back. While practice swords were safer, both of her teachers knew Arya needed to understand her personal weapon, so a more involved practice was needed. They also were teaching her how to combat common fighting styles, Geralt using basic sword styles fitting of Westeros while Syrios focused on agile dueling.

“Redirect instead of blocking.” Geralt sternly instructed. “Your sword isn’t meant for direct strikes and I doubt your arm will handle strong blows too well.”

He’d give Arya a moment to catch her breath, the girl seemed a bit baffled at how unfazed the Witcher was keeping up with her agile pace. “I know…but its hard to do when I’m constantly having to move!” She argued.

Suddenly Geralt lunged in, doing a light shove with his forward leg to knock her onto the ground. She’d give a gasp from the fall, giving an annoyed look at first before seeing the Witcher’s smirk. “And that’s why. Imagine if I had kick or tackled you instead, you’d be dazed and helpless.” He explained. “Your size makes you fast and harder to hit, but light and fragile.”

He’d offer a hand to help her you, Arya nodding in understand as she’d grasp it to be pulled up. “Guess there is more to fighting then I thought.”

“For you and many others its different. You have a lot to learn, but you’ve done in the last few weeks.”

The compliment had Arya grin with pride, making Syrio laugh slightly.

“Don’t give her too much praise Geralt. The pride is the bane of even the finest warriors after all.” The duelist chuckled. “I think a short break is need for now. A quick lunch would do you some good.”

“Well…” She started before her stomach made a small growl, making her glance away a bit in embarrassment from how the duelist smirked. “...Alright maybe your right. Yet you two better not run off while I’m away.” Sheathing Needle, she’d set the small blade at the bench before hurrying off, giving a pairing wave to the two before leaving the open hall.

“Does has that classic Northern stubbornness. At the least she knows well when to listen.” Syrio remarked as he’d look back at Geralt. “She’ll be a fine duelist once she grows up.”

“Rather she’d not make a career fighting like you or me.” Geralt answered back calmly. “This is about teaching her on how to protect herself, nothing more.”

“I…of course.” The duelist seemed a bit taken back by the Witcher’s set answer and felt it best not to say more on the subject. “Training aside, I feel there is a more pressing matter we should discus.”

“About King Robert?”

A more serious look showed in the Braavosi man who nodded in response. “I know things are becoming more dangerous here. Being a guest here does lessen suspension on me and lets me keep an eye on certain matters.”

“Such as?”

The duelist paused, pacing a bit before leaning in to whisper. “I caught word among the servants that a certain Lannister of low standing would be leaving today, a squire you may know as Lancel.” He’d see a hint of surprise in the Witcher’s eyes, drawing a grin from the Syrio. “No doubt it is suspicious that the Lord Baratheon’s personal squire suddenly make plan to leave just a day after a harrowing assassination attempt. A suspicious action for sure.”

“Why didn’t you tell me earlier today?” Geralt sternly questioned.

“Because I didn’t want to distract you from your promise with the girl, besides the walls have ears in this keep. I can say now be the best time to confront the boy before he disappears.”

After a short pause of thought, Geralt nodded in agreement. “Tell Arya then that I was called away on a private matter. Try to keep her distracted for the rest of the day.” Already he’d move for the door out, stopping halfway at the doorway. “Also, Syrio…keep your rapier on hand from now on. Just in case.” With his own warning given, he’d hurry away yet notice the thoughtful look the duelist had just as he left.

Moving through the Red Keep at a hasty pace, he’d soon enter the main courtyard and head for the stables. Nearing the main doors, he’d hear a shuffling sounds within the building. Entering, he saw Lancel quickly tying the last few bags to his horse’s saddle, hands fumbling with the knots.

“Leaving so soon?”

The chilling voice of the Witcher had the Lannister squire gasp, becoming still before glancing over one shoulder to see those fierce cat-like eyes staring back. “I-I was just…setting a mount for a knight who is leaving Ser Geralt.” He quickly remarked back.

“Really now? Which knight would that be, maybe a friend of mine.”

Lancel’s gaze glanced about, muttering a bit to himself as he tried to make an excuse. “Uhh…Ser Loras!”

The Witcher crossed his arms, shaking his head slightly at the answer. “A lie.”

“W-What?”

“Loras was planning to stay longer then a few days after the tournament. He told me himself.”

“Umm…surely he must have changed p-plans.”

Geralt stepped closer, the squire backing up until bumping the back of the horse stall wall. “Seems like a lot of supplies to just get to Highgarden. Road there is quite easy to travel from what I heard…though the route to Casterly Rock is more difficult.”

“Ser your-”

“No more excuses Lancel. I know you had a part in the ambush, considering the timing of the attack was too convenient for you.” He’d pause, letting his accusation sink in. “Now tell me the truth…”

“I can’t…” He’d mutter, panic in his voice. “If I did they’ll-”

“Kill you? I thought Lannisters look out for each other.”

“We do but…NO! You misunderstand.”

The slip of up with his words was clue enough for Geralt as one hand reached out for the squire’s shirt collar, gripping it firmly to stop the him from trying to slip away. “Did Cersei tell order you to signal the assassins and to leave the Red Keep?”

“S-She…she didn’t.” The boy yelped as his back was slammed against the stall wall roughly. “Alright m-maybe she suggested a few things?”

“Such as?”

Lancel was silent, eye glancing away to avoid Geralt’s unblinking gaze. “She…thought it be best that Lord Baratheon enjoy the strong wine again. To…umm…calm his nerves during the hunt.”

“The wine…” Geralt remembered it was the same stuff from the tournament, strong enough to even faze him. “Sounds like to get him drunk and dull his reactions. Could have gotten him killed when that boar attacked.”

“I didn’t wish any harm to the King!”

“No, but Cersei would. Now what about the assassins?”

“I…was told some old friend of the Baratheon’s wanted to make a surprise visit. The queen have me a signal whistle and…told me where to use it.”

“Where is the whistle?”

“Urg! I…destroyed it…part of orders.”

Geralt was silent, annoyed that possible proof was now gone. While Lancel was easy to squeeze information out of, he doubted the squire be a reliable witness, being low standing among the Lannisters. It be easy for them to deny any connection to them or even claim the squire was pressured into giving a false confession.

“So now I must ask, why did you do it?”

Lancel blushed slightly, shifting a bit before Geralt kept him still with his strong arm. “I can’t…its personal…”

“Fine then.” His free hand moved up, fingers flexing to make the Axii Sign before the young man’s eyes. With the Sign cast the Lannister relax quickly and a dazed look crossed his eyes. “What did Cersei offer you.”

“Knighthood and the pleasure of…sharing her bed again.” He muttered in a hazy voice. A goofy grin crossed his face at the mention, making Geralt sigh and shake his head in disgust.

Quickly he’d gesture again for Axii. “Change of plans. Cersei needs you to stay and keep an eye for her… it is your duty after all.” However, when he finished the Sign, a sudden dizziness coursed through him which made him loosen his grip on the squire. The Sign seemed to work as Lancel rubbed his forehead, seeming confused as his memory was now muddled.

“I was? I think so…” Shaking his head, he seemed to snap out of the daze. “Shouldn’t be running off. Not now at least!” Quickly he’d move to get his saddle unpacked, losing all focus on Geralt who shifted away unnoticed. Hopefully Lancel wouldn’t remember being interrogated at for a good while.

Quickly leaving the stables, he’d catch his breath as the dizzy feeling faded away. He had felt this way before when he was slowly regaining the use of his Signs years ago after escaping the Wild Hunt, having to draw power from his body rather then his surroundings. “Getting worse.” He muttered to himself before heading towards the main hall of the Red Keep, deciding it be best to remain in his quarters until called for. Passing through the hall though, he’d notice the grand door to the throne room open, making him wonder if anything was going on.

He’d near the open doors and look down the long throne room, seeing Lord Tywin speaking to Jaime, both standing close to the looming Iron Throne. It seemed like a tense conversation from the tone of it, though from this distance Geralt couldn’t hear what exactly was being discussed. There was still a sense of distrust towards Tywin after their meeting during the tournament, since the man’s ambitions made it difficult to predict how he’d react Cersei’s schemes and taboo relationship with her brother. For now, he felt proper timing was needing to force the lord to make a choice. Approaching the two, they quickly finished their conversation before Tywin turned to face the Witcher.

“Good day Lord Lannister.” Calmly said, bowing his head slightly in formal respect. His gaze shifted to Jaime, who he didn’t greet.

“Geralt. You continue to impress with your wide range of talents considering how you handled Lord Baratheon’s injury. Maester Pycelle was right to praise your intellect.” Tywin answered back.

“The Grand Maester did most of the work sire. I simply assisted and advised.”

“Even so, the King may have a chance to live because of your efforts both here and out during the hunt. I spoke shortly with the Lord Commander Barristan who recounted your timely reaction in saving both him and the King.”

“From what the guards told me they found two dozen raiders slain. Ser Selmy claimed to have killed seven while the King took down three on his own. It seems the other eleven are credited to you.”

“Eight actually. The leader of the assassins killed three others with a bomb to try and kill me.” Geralt corrected.

“While still an impressive amount, I feel my son focuses on the wrong matter here. We still know nothing of these assassins except that they seem to be locals from what the guards have gathered. Simple sellswords and thugs who came to see the tournament.” Tywin quickly added. “They may have the Targaryen mark on their armor, which seems to be little more than a crude disguise to mislead us.”

“Came to the same conclusion. With no one to question we have nothing to go with.”

“Then let’s hope the mastermind stops here then.” Jaime chuckled, though neither his father or the Witcher showed any amusement at the jest, making him quickly become quiet.

“For now, we let the Lord Commander and City Watch do their job. It be best that you and the rest of the King’s Guard focus on Lord Robert’s protection.” Geralt remarked to the golden-haired knight.

“Which my son and fellow knights will do dutifully.” Tywin added, a stern hint in his voice. “If you will excuse me, I have to attend to official matters. The rest of the nobility needs some assurances with what has happen after all.” The older lord moved pass the two to leave the throne room, seeming to have nothing left to say.

For a moment there was silence as Geralt glanced back at Jaime, the knight seeming to relax slightly with his father gone. However, he’d notice the same conflicted look Jaime had yesterday morning before leaving on the hunt.

Jaime sighed and shrug. “As always…focused on politics.”

Geralt simply nodded back. “That is a matter for him to worry about. Right now, I want to know what you wanted to say to me before I left on the hunt.”

Being reminded of that moment, Jaime was silent as he’d pace a bit, moving closer to the looming Iron Throne. His gaze drifted along the tiled floor before the rough metal steps to the bladed seat. “I’ve been thinking over many things since our fight. Of choices I’ve made…”

“Choices that have hurt others?”

The calm yet stern tone of the Witcher’s voice had the knight glance over, a battle-ready tension showing in his sharp eyes. “What are do you mean?” He calmly questioned.

“Winterfell and Bran Stark.”

The blunt statement drew a hint of surprise in Jaime’s eyes, something a normal person would have missed yet not the sharp gaze of a Witcher. However, the Lannister knight kept composed, the respectful look he had soon earlier was replaced by a smugger one. “So, you think I pushed that boy out of that tower? I’ve done many things Geralt but I’m no child killer.”

“You get one chance.”

“What?”

“One chance to admit it.” Geralt calmly stated, the cold threatening tone enough to make Jaime’s confident look disappear. “I know who you were with in that tower and what you were doing. Don’t give a damn about it…right now I want you to admit what you did to Bran. If you have a sense of right and honor to you, then tell the truth.”

Jaime was tense, right hand at the grip of his sword after what he had just heard. However, he’d see how calm the Witcher was, not even tense or reaching for the blade on his back. For a long moment neither moved or seemingly breathed. In the end the blond-haired knight relaxed his grip and gave a deep frustrated sigh. “Guess I should have expected someone like you to figure it out. Cersei was right about you. Guess she knew an outsider with your cunning would notice.” A low amused chuckle escaped from him. “When that boy saw us, we were all startled at first. He lost his grip and I only just reached him before he nearly tumbled down.”  
He’d pause, slowly pacing to circle around Geralt who followed along to keep them both facing each other. “The boy had such a scared look, yet I’m not sure if it was from what he saw or nearly falling. Cersei though…oh she was terrified, kept saying how he ‘saw us’. Talked to the boy a bit, complimented his climbing…learned how young he was…then pushed him when his guard was down.” He’d gesture his hands out in a showman’s manner yet despite the jesting move Geralt saw the way Jaime kept his gaze focused to the ground. “So yes, I did push Bran from that tower. I did it to protect my family and her.”

Again, silence filled the hall after Jaime finished his confession. Geralt flexed his right hand tensely, trying to keep the building anger in check. He knew Jaime was trying to provoke him and make him be the aggressor, get him blamed for assault. “I did misjudge you Jaime. I thought you were a decant man…overconfident and cocky, but decent.” He coldly muttered. “Right now, I’d love nothing more than to break your legs and make you suffer the same fate you gave to Bran. That be justice in my eyes…yet it wouldn’t fix anything.”

“How noble of you showing such restraint.” The knight’s tone was low and mocking, trying to taunt the Witcher on. “So, what now then, we just shake hands and go our separate ways? How can I trust you now after what you’ve told me?”

“Because I didn’t tell your father when I could have. He’s a smart man, may very well know but is in denial or doesn’t care…at least until it risks crumbling everything he has built.” There was another tense pause. “Besides in the end I trust you more than him…

“Heh you have an odd view on trust then.” He’d shake his head in frustration. “I can guess your reasons though and besides…your too damn honest to lie.” His hand slipped from the grip of his sword at that point. “You best go now Geralt before I get second thoughts. Don’t make me regret making this choice.”

“You won’t. Yet I have one last piece of advice, don’t trust Cersei.”

Jaime stifled back a laugh before the Witcher could finish. “And why is that? Should I fear betrayal from my own twin?”

“Because I’ve seen what women like her can do to others. She’ll use you for a long as possible before throwing you aside. In fact, she already is…just ask Lancel.”

Before anything else could be said, there were sudden hurried footsteps coming from the main hall and moving into the throne room. The page sprinted to the Witcher and knight, stopping to catch his breath, the young man bowed to them both before speaking.

“Ser Geralt…Ser Jaime…the king…he’s awake.” He gasped out between breaths. “He’s requested to speak with you.”

“Very well.” Geralt glanced at Jaime who remained silent, only nodding in agreement to follow along. The page gave a short bow before moving to lead the way to Robert’s room with Witcher and knight close behind.

  
**…**

  
“Gah! What do you mean no wine?!”

Robert’s voice was easily heard down the hall as Geralt and Jaime neared the royal bed chamber, a string of grumbling curses soon following. Entering the room, they’d just see Pycelle shift away from the bed as the King had clumsily swiped an arm at him in frustration while Ned hurried over trying to keep his friend from struggling out of bed.

“Damn it Robert calm down!” He snapped out, making the large man give a low growl of annoyance before obeying.

“I got a damn hole in my side…if a damn bit of drink is going to kill me then I’d prefer dying that way.” At this point he’d see Geralt arrive, making a small smirk cross his face. “Well Witcher, not sure if I should curse or thank you for saving my life here.”

“Prefer thanks your grace considering you wasted your cursing on Pycelle. He had just as much of a hand in saving you.”

The sarcastic remark had the King give a laugh which quickly turned into a grunt as pain went through him. “Fair enough…” He muttered as he’d relax back in bed with a low sigh. “So how long have I been out? Few days or something?”

“About a day.” Eddard answered back. “Most thought you wouldn’t even wake but they underestimated your tenacity.”

Robert smirked with a bit of pride before Pycelle spoke up at this point. “It is fortunate, but we shouldn’t be too…err…joyful. Your injury was quite serious after all. Infection and blood loss can still bring…umm…unexpected complications.”

“I know that well enough.” Robert grumbled, seeming annoyed knowing the risks involved.

“Which is why there are important matters to discuss.” Ned added, his tone more serious to his old friend.

The King only simply nodded before glancing back at Pycelle. “So, anything else needed Grand Maester? If not, I’d prefer privacy on official matters.”

Pycelle had a small frown cross his face, grumbling something before nod in agreement. “As you wish your grace.” He’d gather up some of his medical supplies before shuffling out of the room.

“And Kingslayer?” Jaime looked attentive as he was spoken by his infamous title. “Know your no massager boy but I feel you’d be best suited telling Cersei of my…partial recovery.”

“If you feel that is for the best your grace.” Jaime answered back with a small bow before turning to leave. However, he gave a parting sharp look to Geralt as he passed by the Witcher and walked out of the bedroom as well. The Witcher knew it was risky being direct with Jaime, yet he was trying to make a point in doing so.

Focusing back on Robert, Geralt moved closer to the bed while Ned pulled up a chair along with writing board set with fine parchment and quill. It wasn’t hard for the Witcher to understand a decree of some kind was about to be written. “Is it proper for me to be here?” He questioned.

“Considering you saved my life twice over and if anything, I trust you more than Pycelle listening in. Man’s far too shifty for his age.” He’d give a small pained scoff. “Besides I’m the King, so I get to decide.” With a grunt, he glanced toward Eddard. “Anyway, let’s get this over with…” Pausing for a moment to collect his thoughts he’d continue to speak. “In the name of Robert of the House Baratheon, first of…” A tired sigh escaped him before shrugging his shoulders. “You know how it goes, fill in the damn titles later.”

Ned nodded though couldn’t help but give an amused smirk at his friend’s remark.

“I hereby commend Eddard of House Stark…titles titles…to serve as Lord Regent and Protector of the Realm because of my inability to rule. If death comes for me, he is to continue ruling in my stead until my son Joffrey comes of age.”  
For a moment there was tense look showing in Eddard’s eyes as his quill hand paused before continuing. Geralt wondered what Ned had written down since his swift hand movements hinted a different form of wording.

Robert gestured for the writing board which Ned hesitantly handed over along with the quill. The King was quick to simply sign the decree, seeming to trust what Ned had written down. Handing the board back, he’d give a pained grunt before relaxing back on the bed. “Let us hope the later part of that decree doesn’t come to pass. Ugh…rather enjoy living a little longer.” The King bowed his head a bit before glancing right at Ned. “You’ll rule for now. Hate every moment of it, but you’ll do it well.”

Lord Stark nodded as he’d take the decree off the board and roll it up. “Of course. Right now, you focus on recovering old friend. Injured or not, the people need their King.”

“Bah…stop reminding me.” Robert grumbled, waving one hand about in jesting annoyance. “Anyway I command you to give that decree to the Council immediately. Don’t care if you have to drag them all into that blasted room, just get it done.”

“As you wish your grace.” Lord Stark stood up and gave a short bow out of formally, even when Robert shook his head in tired amusement. The Witcher moved to stand up as well, yet the King spoke up again. “Not you Geralt. Didn’t call you here to be just a witness…but to talk as well.”

The Witcher shared a short look with Ned who nodded, assuring Geralt that he’d be fine on his own. Ned soon leave the room, closing the door behind him loudly. “Let me guess…you want my professional opinion?”

“On what, how long I got left?” Robert gave his famous deep chuckle which quickly became a pained grunt. “I’ve had my share of injures and seen more then I can count. Give myself a fifty-fifty as they say.”

“Eh, about the same guess I made.”

“Heh…like minds think alike.” Geralt didn’t grin back at the statement, which only made the King smirk smugly before it disappeared. “The attack…I know it wasn’t the girl or her bother. Too sloppy…improvised…fake.” Sighing, he seemed disappointed. “Wanted a reason to war with them. An excuse. Didn’t come when the moment was right.”

The remark was surprising for Geralt. “I remember you eager for blood back at the camp. Guess you had some sense win out in the end.”

“Ugh, don’t push it Witcher, I’m not as stupid as I look.” The King snapped back. “I know that you or the King’s Guard will find the bastards who planned this.”

“I have gotten some leads…some of which you may not believe.”

“What like my own wife planning my death?” He’d jested back but seeing the Witcher’s serious look had him become silent. “Gods…you don’t mean…”

“Like I said, I have leads. In the end the Queen as the most to gain after all and it is logical to suspect her.”

“I don’t believe it. That woman can be cold and distant at times, yet that seems extreme even for her.”

“Maybe you simply don’t know her as well as you think.”

For a moment Robert seemed ready to lash out with an insult, bite it back before giving a sigh. “Aye. I’ll admit…twenty years and we feel as far apart as our wedding night.” He’d rub one hand crossed his bearded face, trying to clear away the wearily look on it. “Wish I hadn’t taken the Throne that day. The power though…that temptation to rule it all. I thought it give me the freedom to do as I pleased. In the end it’s been nothing more than a damn shackle. Trade it all just walk off into that sunset road to anywhere but here.”

“Sounds like a fairy tale talking like that.” Geralt remarked.

“Perhaps it is…then again you yourself are a living fable. The stranger with a knight’s honor and the might to match the nation’s finest. Many a man would trade it all to have your life.”

“Trust me, it’s not worth it.” Geralt’s cat like eyes looked directly at Robert’s gaze and for a moment the King could ‘see’ the lifetime of struggle the Witcher had endured.

“Maybe…maybe…” The King muttered as he looked away. “Guess we all carry burdens that no one else should have.” Slowly his gaze drifted to the nearby table, noticing the wine decanter set on top of it.

“It wouldn’t be advised your grace.” Geralt warned.

“I know. Yet the pain in my side just won’t go away and no matter how much water I’ve had it doesn’t ease the thirst I have.”

There was a pause before the Witcher sighed, guessing one drink wouldn’t kill the King. Getting up and moving to the table, he’d fill up two cups for them both before returning to the bedside. While it seemed unwise, a little liquior would no doubt relax Robert. After all he felt it may be time to reveal the truth about Joffrey not being his truth son…though he felt revealing Jaime as the true father was too risky to share for now. “One drink and that is it for a week.”

“Fair enough. To our health Witcher!” Tipping his cup in a slight toast, both taking a deep drink from their cups. Robert gave a deep satisfied sigh as he finished the last drop, a livelier gleam showing in his eyes. “A fine choice on this one. Unique sweeter taste though.” However when he looked to Geralt an odd look crossed his face, a mix of shock and confusion. “Gods! Geralt what’s with your face?!”

Quickly Geralt glanced at his hands, see the veins under his pale skin suddenly darken. His heart started to beat faster, painful so since it usually beat at only the fourth of a normal man, only quickening from adrenaline, his potions or… “Poison!” He stood quickly up from his chair, knocking it back loudly as he reached at Robert who suddenly tensed up, the larger man breathing becoming shaky as he dropped his cup.

“Witcher…I…” His hand grabbed over his heart, body struggling as whatever poison was coursing through his body.

Geralt could feel it too, like a clawed hand squeezing over his rapidly beating heart, trying to choke the life out of him. His body was adaptive to this as he’d force through the pain, teeth gritting from the internal pain he felt. By this point the door opened as the King’s Guard from outside hurried in, seeing Geralt gasping for breath while Robert shook on the bed, eyes rolling back.

“Get Pycelle now!” Geralt yelled out as he grabbed at Robert’s, forcing the man’s chittering jaw open as he tried to force him to puke. He wasn’t certain if it was too late or not, purging was the best choice he had to save the King. He’d growl out as the King bit down on his fingers shoved into his throat, making Robert gag out. Pulling his hand back, Geralt watched as Robert heaving loudly, throwing up his last meal and the wine. It wasn’t enough though as Robert rolled on the bed in a violent seizure, his body not fit to handle the shock.

“No no no!” The Witcher tried to keep the King in place, seeing the wound on the side reopen from his thrashing. It was hard to keep a man so large still even with his mutant strength, along with the fact that his own body was fighting the poison off. Robert’s eyes were wide, fear showing in them as he stared at Geralt before slowly becoming still. He could hear the man’s heart slowing until it became silent, making him growl in anger. “Damn it…not again…happening all again…”

At that point he heard many hurried footsteps, making him turn about to see Barristan and the rest of the King’s Guard. The old knight stared at the scene in pure disbelief, stepping closer to gaze at his King’s dead eyes. “He’s…”

“Murdered.” Geralt muttered as he turned to look a Barristan. His yellow eyes were intense, enough to make even the experienced knight recoil from the intimidating glare and sickening dark color hinting the Witcher’s veins. “Poison. Not sure what…but it’s strong…very strong.” The Witcher groaned as again pain surged through his chest before subsiding.

Barristan moved to get Geralt away from the bed while the two other King’s Guard moved closer to their fallen ruler, muttering lowly at the sickly sight before them. “How did you survive?”

“Bodily resistance. The process of becoming a Witcher…makes me resistant to poisons…” He explained back. “Whatever this was…it was fast acting. Should mean the poison is simple and potent…no doubt easier to identify.”

“Yet who…”

“You know very well who could have planned this.” There was a tense growl to the Witcher’s words. “Who else could have access to Robert’s personal drink and quarters without drawing attention.”

The Lord Commander was silent, unsure what to believe at this moment. “Then I pray you are wrong Geralt. Because if it true…”

“I know…it means war…”

  
**…**


End file.
